On pages and pages,
I weep my words and write my grieves
This time I make no more apologies.
Even if that makes a monster of me
I want, just once, to feel that I’m free
free to tell my suffering to somebody.
One last attempt to have you to watch me really
I’m not who you think I am, nor who you wanted me to be,
Look how broken I am, just once, please try to see.
I’ll continue to walk and grow on my own, gradually,
I’ll keep repeating that, somewhere, someday, maybe,
I’ll find a quiet place for me that I’ll call home, or destiny.
A place where I would smile gladly,
but still could cry too, yet without having to be sorry.
I will no longer have to fulfill impossible duty.
No one will condemned me for what I am: an imperfect being.
I’ll just have to live, and that will already be something.
These are my last words to you, I’m retiring.
On pages and pages,
I wrote how I love and hate you for our misses
