Ne bacam pisma i ne brisem mejlove, da bi ih jednog dana citao kao neku vrstu dnevnika. Danas sam procitao slučajni uzorak.
Kad se recenice razbiju u stihove, od prastarog mejla ispadne pesma...
Yes, it hurts...

There was a life
That could have been ours
If you weren't afraid
To make it with me

There were children
With names
And beautiful faces

Why do you think
I'm not going to be hurt
Or angry
That they're gone?

And now some other woman
Will take my place with you
In that life
And have those children
That should have been ours.
Yes, it hurts.

Ona 2005.