Are these all the tears I have for you?
I wonder...

I'm not even sure why I am crying about,
for it being over
or the existence of it.

I'm all emotional these days,
and I have learn to see that as defect of my personality,
but I still can see that it also bring some clarity to things.

Even when us was always about confusion,
about extremes and nothing at the same time,
like mold in a pair of shoes in the closet.

And you are so far,
and I'm so over it,
and I'm so not over it,
and this is not new at all,
you have always been out of reach.

I open my hand in the middle of the cold air,
the room is very still,
and what makes me cry
is not knowing,
if a feel anymore.

Like in a labyrinth,
like my body floating in the middle of a mercury pond,
and the midst, making it impossible to say
if is about to be dark
or the morning.
and I just stay, almost draining,
almost alive,


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