Eternity
I have this stubborn idea in my head: I want to spend my life in bed. My problem is this: We grow old too fast. Night is like an evil weed –you cut it out from one place and it sprouts from another. Night makes me feel sorry for myself. I learn to love night, the evil weed, because it never dies. It’s just my luck to be human, as we suffer so softly. We live for sorrow and its sweet mouth. The idea of eternity pleases me, and when it is dark, and the clouds are grey, sadness becomes my only friend. Feeling sad leads me to infinity, and the mix of my worst desires. I love you, eternally.
