My shoes are tight and press on my toes, my earrings pull my ears down, the smokes of cigarettes around me, but I don't smoke.
There's a silence here, time passes with the sound of a fan in the ceiling. why I write in English. I like the imperfections in things, people and myself but I seek for the perfect love and home, to take off my clothes easily and throw it away. This home is big and the sun comes from everywhere, very white with very high ceilings with no fans and silence there.
This voice in my head tells me to run run run. But I'm not sure if I can run with these tight shoes.