and counting...

cooking

or eating

or washing the dishes

.

I don't feel like coming out of bed

or thinking what to wear

.

Or looking at people when I walk down the street

looking at men and their stupid faces

faces that aren't yours

.

I don't feel like

thinking about you and what you're doing

or me

and what should I do about it

or me

and what I'm not doing

or feel like doing

.

Truth is

I don't feel like I'm awake

the kisses, every party 

and the root that drinks my sorrows,

my feverish habit of looking for you,

my days and this hunger of you.

I still remember the day I started this, believing that, like everything else, it wouldn't last a day.

I know it's been a looong time since I last posted something, I'm sorry.