The happy memories, the painful memories...# can't see them, hear them or tell them.
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Buildings are calling ##.
Even if # can reach what is across the wall, # won't. The body is dangerous, it doesn't like our minds a lot. The body is our enemy so, nothing is bad about beating it. Nothing is bad about murdering the body that commands you, in which you keep closed. But even if your body got in half and everything inside it went outside to sight, you wouldn't because you are nothing. It's absurd, it was never important.
It was never enough. Exist is basic, is never enough. # need something far away from existing, because it would be enough, unlike existing. Death, dear death, i'm in love with your details, not with your word, not with your depictions, because you are something beautiful. Death is everything to ##, comfort, despair, hope, disturb, and other awful tags # love, someone is trembling right now because of the joy.
You were not made for this world, this world wasn't made for you. It's hard to accept, the shame is always present, we were supposed to be this, we were supposed to be that. But it's just fair and people can't be able to accept it. They will remember the parts they wanted and needed to see about you, they will made fun and comment things you never even saw in yourself. It's beautiful. You are never important, but the horror of people when they realize you decided to be gone is stronger, so your remainings will keep with them until they had died and then you'll be forgotten forever.