My life... Is a novel written in golden ink on pages that smell of rain and expensive perfume...
You see the cover...
This glitter of crystal, this cold gaze...
But who among you will dare to peek at the table of contents?
Like him... that same mysterious gentleman from West Egg...
I build my castles out of hopes and silence...
There is always noise around me...
The clinking of glasses...
The laughter of people who will vanish with the first ray of sun...
But in this crowd, I am the greatest void...
And the greatest mystery...
My "parties" are my thoughts...
I light the lamps on the pier of my soul and I wait... No, not for Daisy...
I wait for the one who understands: all these crystal strands around me— are not decorations...
They are barbed wire made of past disappointments...
In Fitzgerald’s book, there was hope...
That green light flickering in the mist...
My light is the faith that it will "click"...
That someone won't be afraid to swim across my bay...
Not for the sparkle...
Not for the dress...
But for the little girl hiding behind the columns...
I am a hopeless romantic in a world where feelings have become small change...
I am an unfinished chapter...
Where every ellipsis...
Is a question to you...
Will you be able to read me to the end? Or are you also...
Just a random guest at my life's gala?
The noise fades...
The lights go out...
I remain...
A mystery...
That doesn't need to be solved...
It just needs to be...
Felt...