We only said goodbye with words… you’ll be back to her, and I'll be back to… to what?

My hands are purplish, probably they need the oxygen that sleeping would provide them– if I could sleep, and deliver myself to that (as Khayyam would say) cousin of Death… – and they need lotion, and a manicure, and most important forget your skin. And I needed you. Past conjugation cuz I forbid you in my continuous present. Too late, or too early was too late, is too late. We can't conjugate anymore.
You must be dreaming, snoring, drooling, and I am writing another blog, OCD, in this intent to extirpate you from my memory (if the eternal shine of a spotless mind could be my case), swallow it with water or tears.
Don’t want to look at the clock, blogger gives me the illusion of recovering one hour, but is later than what I wished. I know is too late, way too late. Late in your time, no time for this dream -awake.
This song, of my trip to the wind and cold makes the function of your pets: my company http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciV34UXODP0