Maybe you are aware of this blog, maybe not.

Meet who I call Isaac Becchelli.

In this lines, I just pretend to testify a couple of concepts while I try to guess a couple more about you my dear, to begin with, It's been my pleasure to share thoughts and dreams for a not rather short season, this said I can only lead my words to the topic I like to share with you:
Now that you are getting detox from the fear and pain, it is quite sure that you are now feeling anger, now that the sadness has left your spirit and became one with your solitude and a sea of complains about what's fair and what not, that precious soul you have has started to rot, yes, like mine, and no, it won't heal the way you expect.
Nevertheless I dare to pronounce in my name, that (just in case you were wondering) you will never be a negative part in my story nor represent a fictive character branded as an enemy of some sort.

Now... let's talk about betrayal.
Is not the worst kind of betrayal to betray oneself? aah! I knew you were going to agree with me, and tell me, How does it feel? not a very pleasant feeling I asume,  so, before you start justifying all the situations in wich you felt manipulated, grant me the opportunity to state that you were not the only one feeling manipulated but did as the other individual said just for the sake of a healthy relationship, which in many ways, began twisted, remained twisted and ended trying to untwist itself.
I did not betray you, you did not betray me, we both betrayed ourselves in the name of each other, you and me, became mythological griffins, stoic sometimes, furious some others.

What about what you did to me?
Do not thing the way you're thinking, I write in the name of the good vibes, the moments that where a pleasure to live for or in some cases it would have been an honor to die for, I sight of what I can relate to this matter, I enjoyed rather much the fact and myth of having someone whould say "I love you" and even when it never was something to get amused or excited, to share a pillow full of dreams, meaning to share a bed was something delightful, despite the fact I don't like to share my bed or pillow.
All the other small details, the were there, loved everytime they hapened, every thread in my old fixed (by you) jeans, every meal you cooked, everytime you shut yourself to let a demon speak without boiling in a noticeable way and the countless hours you spend trying to love someone who loved you back, but did it so differently we never felt what the other was doing nor pushing.



God I swear I'd love you to read me.
but I asume you are busy, trying to think of me as the bad one, felling a little bit disoriented trying to empathize with people you used to believe were evil.

P.S. As the cliché says: May god have mercy on your soul.
P.S.2 Just to clarify, I still am a non spiritual person, so no gods nor giants, only men.