Many days and nights have passed since the last decision I made:
That I shouldn’t be that worried while going home... but that’s what they said in the seventies: When is the time that a dream has gone wrong when you’re with me? I wish I were back home again.
But there can be no again, no more. I wish the world were a quieter place.
I’m afraid I’ll get used to this lack of morals and this inner solitude until this gibberish outside there...will simply disappear.
Sometimes I wonder why I try to maintain some things...there’s no use on doing that.
Times have changed and I’m kind of out of phase.
I can’t miss you more.
