Just a big, huge void. I try to fill the gaps with the other. and I am the night reading blogs, blogs written with style and depressed. I took part in the pain of people who even know, I heard their emptiness as if it were mine, I joined my empty his own. I'd like to exchange our empty. but given the anonymity the network is as safe as impersonal. ANONIMAT O.
I drag my feet on the street, and avoid puddles becomes my only thought. and at home bent my back on the books, and I do not talk to anyone. That ball has become the only reason why it is worthwhile to take out cold running after a ball is the closest thing to life stirs something inside me, and I understand that they are still alive. When the puddles are no longer to be avoided but simply become part of the land on which to run, when after 90 minutes I can no longer stand up when I jump the enemy and then I run after, when the heart trembles for the kick-off when the strong pull ball field to make a change, when a shot taken makes me feel pain, then when I get angry and react. The reaction with that ball I can find a reaction, a ransom. Then I take off my shoes, the wash, I wash and I put my new adidas and dirty routes. And back to the great void. Back to avoid the puddles, back anonymity, silence took over, with its vacuum that is filled. Lathes, too, sometimes, even your back still hurts thinking, the memory returns. It comes back empty.
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