She loved ugly. "Because we all have the dark side and which is not a Madonna's beauty". But I was talking about the Night. I was lying down looking at his grotesque gestures while sleeping. But he is fine. I looked at the faded blue light coming from a small window. A part of heart said , wake up , its the time to write. Another part said... and thus the heart utters two things and ditches very friendly. I miss her. I miss the old days when she was with me and we talked about heaven and hell , but mostly about the gap between. She loved ghosts and I would become one for her sometimes. Nostalgia. Is such an inadequate word. I miss her sometimes like my own being.
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