The truth about me right now is that I write only when I am sad, or sappy a little. I am not sure if this is my inner mood, or my life is just f*cked up like that.
As always in the dark of the night I am sad about the fact how I had/have to separate from the people I love again and now and then. And I don’t want to go through that agony anymore. I am just TIRED. The time is not here yet, but my heart cannot help to play backwards the happy moment of meeting and turning it into the tragedy I am so exhausted to live through. I know, I know I am supposed to be feeding myself all those words of comfort about the meaning of life and relationships and how everything is happening for a reason. But we all hit the rock bottom, when the rebel heart refuses to believe in any reality and shuts down, leaving you lonely sobbing….
What I am doing right now is wrong, but I would rather share this moment in solitude, rather than be grieving together in that small bubble of time that’s left for us. It’s easier to lay it away, as a debt for the moment where I can afford myself broken. But I am here because I think it’s unfair that we are the ones who have to deal with it, both silently with enough dignity not to tell anyone. It’s unfair how again and again we get hit by that ruthless ocean of pain that carves out the marks on our foreheads and hearts. And what I want is change, to the better of course, where the price is paid through labor or mission. The reason for that is that I can excel, I can get better at anything and thus bring the dream closer and push the pain further. I guess it doesn’t make sense, but somehow it feels right. And recently, not too much felt that way.