O lună tristă ce își varsă atîtea lacrimi tot uscate,
Nemuritoare.
Nu mai simt nimica, din nimicul ce mai vine.
Țesuturile tale cu ale mele se tot combină,
Ți-e trist,mi-e tris și mie.
Durerea.
O simți, fără putere ești în fața vieții tot deșarte,
Fără tine sunt nimic, sau un nimic mai mare, poate.
Mi-e frig și un rece de la tine vine.
Și ce ai acolo ?
Am nimic.
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Published by daianapirgaru
Hello, there! My name is Diana. I am from the Republic of Moldova. Moved to the United States in 2016, and started from the beginning. I was born to inhale words instead of air, to have ink instead of blood, to live thousands of years everything people live in a moment. Since I remember myself, I had this deep connection with the moon, autumn, and woods. I was the sensitive child in the family or the weirdest one. I discovered my passion at an early age, but my wings were broken since I was in high school. Didn't stop flying. Moved to another planet, where I had to learn English from the beginning.
I am an overexcited person who adores words and struggles with grammar. I write gritty short stories, novels, and poems, holidays articles, etc.
Besides that, I am a student and a MOM.
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