For her, he was everything. It was the sense of its life. Life itself.
But he regarded it as just a 'other sex. Not even the best. It was safe.
She tried continuously for months, there were no telephone calls, voicemail, empty trips. And with that beat-up old car was always a gamble going and coming, but it was attached.
He did not find, probably had more to do. Or maybe not.
When he stopped the car was not worried at all. Although arrancante, the old car had won his trust. It happened at times that the clutch play some bad joke and that the machine percorresse those 2 meters for the initial push, before he died. But then off again on the first try. That battered old car.
Just restart it would sling his home for the 'umpteenth time, to scream his anger, his anger, his malaise. But he knew that it would be useless.
The train had just passed and she had plenty of time to start again, sure to be firm on track gives it a certain tension, but not afraid.
him, that 's his first words would have reacted with indifference, detachment, with the usual cold. This frightened her. He felt emotion no. Never. Not least against him.
The transition from 'love to' hate is invisibly thin, she had crossed a long time. Hated him. But do not hate him at all, there still could. At the bottom of his heart was still hoping for a miracle in a riapacificamento. Although he would never have allowed.
The bars were lowered and the warning lights flashed. While the battered old car has not been allocated. The last wild attempts before the flight. There was affectionate but the train was now palpable.
One tug on the handle to exit quickly. The broke in his hand. Panico. Out of the 'other door then.
The train struck the car with the 'innarestabile violence of a giant' s steel hurled down to 200 'now against a battered old car that suddenly seemed slightly lighter.
She was still coming out. The blow hurled a dozen feet away. The last of which we walked dragging his chin on the rough terrain. The meat was consumed until the 'bone but not hurt.
leg torn clean off, that is that it hurt.
Lucidity. A great characteristic of which had always boasted, even now abandoned. Unfortunately.
Conscious the fact that in less than a couple of minutes, the death would have made her visit, she wondered how he would react to this news.
probably surface with indifference. The usual ritual phrases "oh really? And how did it happen? Cabbage, I'm sorry" just to appear human in the eyes of others. But she knew that he did not care at all. Do not consoled by the thought that in a while 'that his icy cynicism was no longer a problem. For her.
"I wonder how I take all my friends, are often the talk of the self"
She began to cry, but not the physical pain that is now relieved spontaneously.
"I wonder how we will, after death is more a problem for people who just have to go"
The pool of blood on which he lay was hot, "Do not ever think that blood is hot
What stupid and useless phrase before he died. But every phrase is useless before he died, at least for the condemned.
A stupid phrase, invented by an idiot.
as are all the clichés.
A blog of wasters! 
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