Writing for the voice inside me
For no one and interesting for no one. Still, the voice inside of me starting a dialogue over and over again. What happened the last summer. It was only a couple of weeks, but still those weeks come back haunting me, and I cannot get rid of the shadows of the sun of the little town in Italy. I feel ashamed, and I feel sorry. But sorry for whom and for what? Did I do something? Everytime I engage in a deeper dialogue with the voice inside of me, we cannot find anything I actually should be sorry for. For hoping to find a friend in a person who was so nice to me (but then the voice in me says that he might have been nice, because, as he said about another dude who was nice to me, I was "a pretty girl")? The only thing I can be sorry for - and this feels bad, because I hate myself for this - is that I agreed to kiss him when we were drunk of the marvelous local sparkling wine the last week. It's like my mom who married the wrong person just because she felt so lonely. An