Every day i think about my Adrian, gone away with his mother, stolen and growing up in my thoughts. I wonder and fantasize about having him and being a single father with my baby enduring the struggles, fighting the battles i want to win and the lessons and happiness of watching him evolve and what granted things i would chose not to take because he is enough. As are all my children. I work hard, everyday despite the physical and medical conditions i hide from myself and keep in the deepest end from the world as to not see my reflection through sympathetic eyes saying sorry and the charity that shrinks me smaller than the invisible choking in my throat. I miss my children, but love doesnt care. Love doesn’t wait nor does it grow with water. I hurt, i burn under the pain, i rot in the impressions from the blind, the blind that wait but push me closer to failure and eat what i work so hard to starve for later. I have nothing, only a record player, a bag full of clothes and a couple backpack pockets full of broken mementos i cherish and that seem to solar my drive in unkown ways. Yet im not fake, yet i stand apart from the rest no matter where i go or am. These abilities which i cant seem to define as amazing, talents or just sharp knives and ice picked tortures. Yet i breath, yet i try to love even if it is not real because its all i know, its all i was taught. Im trying.