You took me to the beach.
Strolling free
in our long dress
and silly hats
with no address.
We were talking
about boys and sex.
I was fifteen, and you
were a walking dead.
You kept it secret so well,
that your cancer
was feeding
your self’s lungs
I didn’t know.
that day would be the last
we would eat bread,
seashells and cheap wine,
over the boiling yellow grains
On a random day
of summer ends
with the smell of salt
craved in your name.
I’ll go on an adventure. Later, after a deep nap and a strong coffee, repeat. I will go on an adventure. Later.
All good stories always have a dragon. And for a childish reason, I like the mechanical beating of every word that goes out of tune in front of the pale screen that hides the present night a little inside my head.
My name is Lara, I was born in 1984 and I am writing about the worlds build up in my head and when I am too lazy to express myself in the wording I use my simple drawing skill.
To each one of you who has read and follow my stories, thank you.