I haven't written anything. I lived just like billions of people who never even think of jotting down their thoughts I have only lived. At the end what drives the pen anyway: a desire to live forever in the false reflection of our souls on a piece of paper or in the glimmer of a monitor. Nothing sooth the souls... a journey for the sake of journey, no pens, no papers, no memory cards and no memory.
Since October 2006 I have grown older, smarter and yet I stayed the same unsatisfied, happy, content, angry, peaceful and hateful. Is there really a state of mind which you can describe yourself with? I think it is a sham. I've been happy for last 2 years is a premise as incorrect asdx I've been sad all my life. Is not life a collection of strange clashing colors. As the darkness falls on every bright day, doesn't sorrow visit us each day aftermath of our bliss? Isn't it obvious the worst moment of life is so randomly followed by a surprisingly joyful incident. I think so. I had a rocky week I have tasted the unadultered sadness and then almost pure-happiness in trivial things. This alone gives me hope that nothing lasts forever the gossamer of emotions are like seasonal flowers and hatred is just the same.
I don't know whether this is an emotional isolation, a getaway attempt, confusion or clarity. Is this sentence alone a proof of my broken mind or is it an evidence that points to my consciousness. I don't know the answers yet I also could care less at this point. Just like she said which brought an indescribable neausea to my stomach "Don't think too much, don't analyze it, I have one life and I am trying to make the best out of it. Trying to enjoy it. You should do the same."
The advice is a burning ball of fire thrown onto my face. It burnt me a'right. Gotta do some growing-up now.
Well I am trying I really am.