Reportage

Today my skin is cracked.
I am slowly growing out of my body
To embrace the day.
I am used to silence.

Before all this, I used to look at you,
Writing my face in ink
The hour solemn and dark.
Still.
Just us, unhappy to share the beautiful days and nights,
The imperfect dreams.
Waiting for love at the same door
With the same patience.

Now I am alone with hundred of friends and counting.
With a good facebook status.
You, in a different room,
Watch your toes moving up in the queue.
It’s your turn to kiss my relics and wish for a miracle.

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