mi trope favorito es cuando en una serie/novela el personaje está seguro de su victoria y te voy a sacar la conchetumare bastardo culiao y la comemoco erai no eri na peo de conejo

 it's lonely when you aren't heard isn't it?

so it carries the wind like a lonesome howl.

and so it goes,

the wind and the feel.

where does it stop?

will anyone hear?

is it the howling so sad so that nobody wants to hear it?

i'm tired of asking questions,

but it cannot be helped.

it's lonely like this and you know it.

i could die and nobody would bother.

and by nobody i mean,

the one who has my heart

in her fingers,

in her breath.

even if she doesn't know it.

even if she doesn't want it.

even if she breaks it.