I have suffered, as everyone, and every time I swear myself "this is the last". Let me tell you a secret: deep inside, I know it's not. 

I met this guy one time, I like to call him "whisper" because he was just like that, a little secret told with bated breath. I felt him like a breeze, transient and intense. The one you think is just a caress that grabs directly your bones, breaking through your heart. And just like that he left, leaving me wanting to know more about that secret. 

Then I felt the angry, the pain and the burden. Also I felt surrounded, crushed by the light. Knowledge, they call it, when I didn't ask. "You are sick of ignorance" they said to me, I couldn't see even when it was in front of me. 

After all I kept walking on those crowded streets, naked to the feelings, wanting to believe. I felt the cut of the frozen air, actually I couldn't dress up without help. Not just my body, my heart and my mind, my whole self was shaking waiting for a raise, wanting to be covered even by a giant hand. 

I met other one, this time his name is "scratch" because he was just like one of them, like a huge scorch in my skin. I felt him warm, whimsical, uninterrupted. I tried to stop it while it was dismembering me. But all I could do, all I can do, is still being waiting here for the next time, because it hasn't been the last.