Since I don’t know how to feel anymore, I just quit feeling anything and drink the whole day. “So this is it”, I think and strangle my own thoughts. I am really passionate about sadness, about this emptiness though it seems so kill me quite slowly. I try to keep my eyes on the road that simply dies in front of me. Fading seems like an easy word, too romantically for a life that breaks, for a future that really doesn’t exist yet. Rum is good, it breaks loose all the bricks that shatter my mind and it fills out uncolored spaces. It also fills the mind with creepy figures and tender tention. I don’t want to break, I try so hard to be someone, to be anyone.
I sometimes wish I was known for being crazy, wild-hearted and loose with myself. Instead I am the embarassed one, the one who tries too hard, the uncomfortable to be around one. I am the girl who would hide behind books and coffee and liquor, so she wouldn’t have to face reality. And sadly, there is nothing daring and beautiful and special about it. Nobody tries to climb a tower, nobody tries to build up conversations, nobody wants to get to know what you hide so carefully. I am the girl that spends her lifetime waiting for something to happen, that she wishes to control, that she wishes, she could step out of, like an old snake skin. To be better, to be new, to be what everyone wants her to be. But instead I’ll stay here and lose myself in fairytales and lands of switching mountains, faceless dolls and bloody eyes. I do believe that love is something to wait for, but maybe love is not real and life is not my playground - stories are.
In a weird mood, smoking Lucky Strike, drinking vodka, watching ‘Girls’. I love Lena Dunham. Faith in humanity definately restored. I feel like writing on book three of my bookseries.
Do people ever notice how blurry reality is and that dreams are the only pure thing that come from ourselves while we live our lifes outside our heads, instead of living not only with ourselves but most importantly IN us?