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It's snowing. Its all grayish blue in my room.
Im sitting in my bed, wraped in a big,warm,heavy sheet that mom gave me that day. with a sore throat and blocked ears, I'm taking small sips of my hot black tea while whatching Gavaznha for the hundredth time,.
My mouth is so tasteless I crave for that burning sensation of alcohol...
Can you come over?!
The simplicity of drunk talks, drunk kisses and drunk touches, would make a day out of nothing...
and now, that we are both numb as hell, shall we forget what we've done?
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نویسنده: هستی کاشفی