Consequence
As everybody would do, I throw myself into work. It sounds like the best thing to do and the easiest. It’s been, I don’t know, three or four years? Maybe five, I stopped counting few years ago; can’t stand you and me weren’t together anymore.
But mostly, I don’t know why I’m writing it in my bad and poor english. What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe is just ‘cause you didn’t speak english. You never did and I was really mad about that, do you remember? You’ve never understood why I was so in love with this language, you always thought that I was british addicted or something. You always said that I must learn english, because it was the right thing to do; between the two of us I was the one that had to study, to accomplish something. You don’t. You were satisfied with what you had and I envied you, I still do.
I still remember why we broke up, I was tired of distance, of your absence and I knew I couldn’t wait nearly four hours of train to see you again. I remember saying “come back to your ex-girlfriend. She deserves you more than me” and you were so angry about that. You said we should be friends, but it was too hard.
And now here we are. I’m still trying to accomplish something (a master degree doesn’t count in that something, you know I’m never satisfied) and I thought I’d left you behind when I heard that song today and I started to cry. Maybe that’s why I didn’t go to the concert tonight. I was afraid to cry in front of my friends and have to explain all of this, all of us.
It’s hard to believe this can still hurt after so much time.
Guess everybody has to deal with consequences. I have to deal with (our) music.
