I am not Joel Rojas. A waste of chemicals under the tag of happiness has taken over the mind, the thoughts and the hands God granted me on a summer day. The music in the distance is a mere beat. My heart dances, my body dances, my hope dances, while the walls turn red, while the expectation for a morning in which I could discover what I am meant for grows gargantuan. I have no control over these words. I have no control over when the sun sets. I have no control over when the earth will tremble at each of my steps. I, as infinite as a single person can be, sit by the arms of je ne se pas, c'est la vie, carpe diem, and the like, to have chats of the taste of red wine. I see the world through my dirty glasses, through the eyes of a drunken man. These keys are soft, this world seems soft, this slight feeling of nude joy feels soft. Hot Chip, hot drinks, hot words, hot plans, hot winter, hot sex, hot love. I wonder. I wonder how much of my self has gone on a boat. The music next to me is the beat of my heart. I am nothing without music. Music is nothing without me. Why? You know what? I know I am more than a pile of salt, yet... yet that is exactly how I feel. If the rain, I would melt, and who would I fool? You are the soul for which my soul has become a pure pile of salt awaiting to become a sea which can give you comfort on a day like this...
I am sold for the whims of a woman who owns me in a most despicable way. Do not misunderstand me: it is just that I have found a woman who rocks my world...
Funny, isn't it?
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