Anyway, the disease is true. Im scared too. You know Im a lonely guy, I rarely go out except now and then to a public space with a little green pasture and I just lie down to lick my wounds, but now... now I cant really go nowhere. And the worst is coming. Im glad they are trying a new therapy for the covid with hidroxychloroquine, the french virologists' recipe... we got to hang on a couple of months 'till the vaccine appears,
I am hopeful about it, its gonna come, but the waiting kills me. My mom and my aunt are in their late 70's, cant reach for them, cant hug them... I should have been a little less egotistical and see them more often.
Tell them all that I love them, althou they do know that, but to tell them, too, that i am not a vicious madman, that they should come to MY APARTMENT and see that Im sourrounded with music and noble things.
But Im afraid that will never happen. My house, my friend, is a sad, crying house.
You can see it on the walls. You can smell the tabacco in the air, stinging your nostrils and itching your eyelids.
You know, people, sometimes, they just wanna see you working a nine to eight like them , for they fear that you dont know about their pain.
I'm profoundly rooted to a family that , in 17 and a half years, has only come to visit me once, for 15 minutes. Idont know what to do with my soul, sometimes.
I can't cry over this computer monitor, its too far from my face, yet I wish I could.
Seems like those three and a half years of english classes paid off very well.
I DON'T KNOW WHERE HOME IS ANYMORE.
I am hopeful about it, its gonna come, but the waiting kills me. My mom and my aunt are in their late 70's, cant reach for them, cant hug them... I should have been a little less egotistical and see them more often.
Tell them all that I love them, althou they do know that, but to tell them, too, that i am not a vicious madman, that they should come to MY APARTMENT and see that Im sourrounded with music and noble things.
But Im afraid that will never happen. My house, my friend, is a sad, crying house.
You can see it on the walls. You can smell the tabacco in the air, stinging your nostrils and itching your eyelids.
You know, people, sometimes, they just wanna see you working a nine to eight like them , for they fear that you dont know about their pain.
I'm profoundly rooted to a family that , in 17 and a half years, has only come to visit me once, for 15 minutes. Idont know what to do with my soul, sometimes.
I can't cry over this computer monitor, its too far from my face, yet I wish I could.
Seems like those three and a half years of english classes paid off very well.
I DON'T KNOW WHERE HOME IS ANYMORE.
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