Always like that, it is always like that.
Loser, as usual.
But fortunately there's him by her side, without him she wouldn't know how to live.
He's so important that he doesn't even know that.
He knows her so fucking well, he can make her laugh and cry, she never felt like that.
He can make her feel alive while remaining herself.
Him, him, him, her first and last thought, him, the reason for not wanting to jump school, the reason to resist.
They are lying down, together, and she feels like she's in heaven; just like if nothing, except that contact and that sensation, matters anymore.
No one ever let her felt like that, no one ever did that.
She wants him, she wants lots of things, but fist of all, she wants him.
She desperately wants to understand what was he thinking and feeling in that moment, but she can't.
She will never know.
She finds herself thinking that she's not enough.
And then he ignores her and she thinks that something changed.
She doesn't want to lose him, she would rather lose herself than losing him.
She doesn't love him, or at least she doesn't know that.
She realizes that it is true that love and hate are divided by a very thin line and she fears that that line is breaking , she fears to start hating him, she loves him she doesn't want to hat him, and maybe this sort of poem doesn't have sense anymore, but it is exactly what she's feeling.
And meanwhile he walks aways, always more, and more, and more.
Just like a ship that sails from a port.
Just like the relatives of that person that are on the mainland that greet him with emphasis, and that person on board that greets them with a salty tear streaming on her face.
And she feels just like her person.
Tears are streaming and streaming down her face, without interruption, unscrupulous.
Figuratively, it's obvious, she could never cry for something like that in front of everyone.
Away, further and further away, away and away, distant.