I feel sorry,
cause I miss the man I used to know, the guy who travel around Peru to teach
and to preach, the one that told me I should compromise with church and start
in a ministry with sadness. The guy who told me you are marvelous and I went
like really? The one with a sweet heart who used to take care of me. The man
who wouldn’t let things pass by without doing something about it and didn’t care
if nobody else was going to do it. Your heart was huge, your mind was in place.
He was the one.
I changed
thru the years, it was weird at the beginning being so far, u were dating other
girls and I was a pain in the ass, cause I wanted to be loved by u, I guess I didn’t
understood but good still remain somewhere in there. I’m not the girl I used to be when I met u
but some things remain, I still put something in my mind and do it and reach
it, u remember that? But I grew in ambitions, I consider myself capable, I dream
big cause I know where I wanna be and I won’t stop moving forward to what I feel
I deserve.
The sweet
man of my dreams, the one, changed too. You started doubting everything about
the bible and having your fights where u said God was a spoiled child and he
sure owed u and explanation. You slipped slowly like who found the “realm” and
then all the bible was trash and u were resentful for knowing it so well. All
the sudden your wishes became vain, you didn’t wanna help, you wanted revenge,
you wanted to tell everybody about your new findings, soon enough, u were over
worried about skin products, going to the gym and dressing like a 17 year old. That’s
not bad, but u just lost substance. U wanted to “live” you weren’t the sweet
angel anymore, just a shallow pretty inmature guy with no ambitions, just
getting thru the month with enough money working as less as possible.
But I still
remember the man who came to my rescue, the one who didn’t let me hug him good bye
when I met him the first time.
The only
thing, that man is dead, and you are so bussy trying to be cool that I don’t think
he is ever coming back.
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