Highlands
I used to write short stories based on stories and feelings of my friends, of my own or just develop movie's stories that inspired me. I wrote them because I liked it. I haven't been written for 9 years. But today suddenly I wrote one. The small one. Letters turned into words themselves. Here it is:
I'm not in love with Milan anymore. And I'm not in love with you. You used to the whole world for me and turned to nobody. You showed me the way to go. There, in highlands, to the north. But you haven't come with me. That story is only mine and there is no place for you. That is not the story of one day, but the story of whole life, maybe not the only one.
It was not easy for stars to adopt the correct locations. But we are our own stargazers. Part of the stars were placed by myself and the rest by yourself. The heavens helped the rain and cold. Tea and French lessons also helped.
The beauty of language depends on who speaks. It's not important which language you speak. After some time, you not see the appearance, hear not the language, but the substance from the deep of the heart. The most important things.