To be in this Life.
I miss the times when I was happy. I turn up my head and try to find out where I lost myself on the way. Maybe I can find me or not. It is a chance. Nostalgic, longing, indifference… everything and nothing at the same time it is the inner part of... I cannot reach any point where I can say “yes I feel something”. I do not feel anything. I see my future and I only foresee uncertainty. I look at my past and I only can discover bright-dark-terrible-great moments. I regret, of course I do. But I am not repentant of what I’ve done. I stare at my present and I only see how much work, tasks, assignments and a boring life I have. Routine has become my friend, my foe… my frenemy. It helps me to carry on but it is such a bitch. I need to breathe. My life needs holidays of me. But I am afraid I cannot leave me. I am condemned everlasting with me. I see the word “me”. It means a lot. It means ME! I think is too much: is fun, is responsible, is funny, is cautious, is joker, is obsessive, is relaxed, is ambitious, is fashion, is glutton, is tired, is dancer, is anger, is magic, is lost, is found, is enlighten, is medieval, is lucky, is debater, is love-lover, is intense, is writer, is amusement, is dramatic, is hilarious, is tragic, is comedy, is tear, is smile, is happiness, is sorrow, is passion, is indifference… is.
Is, is… am, is, are… All is about to be. “To be” proves the existence. If there is not “to be”, there is not existence. If there is not existence there is no Me. But There is. Oh hell no. Yes there is. Well, no. Anyhow. I miss the time when I was nostalgic. I turn up my head and try to find where I found myself on the way. Maybe I can find the hint of my troubles. Happy, energy, hope… everything and nothing is in the inner part of… I cannot find any point where I can say “Yes I am melancholic”. I only feel gladness. Life is so full of surprises, of things, of troubles, of joy, of bad times, of friends, of egocentric people, of success, of tiredness, of peace moments, of war times, of treaties, of knowledge, of ignorance, of life… of death.
Existence and life. So complicated. Too much. Too much. But too much. It is more than an ocean of water, and ocean of knowledge, an ocean of love… is a universe. Big, big universe. Immeasurable. At any moment it will explode. For sure. My eyes are witnesses of all. It is not nice.
Life is a possibility. Its contingency makes all so… -there is no word, nor definition- Its contingency makes all so… [ ]. I really feel sorry for those who “am, is, are” in this (no-word) life.
I miss the times when I was happy. I turn up my head and try to find out where I lost myself on the way. Maybe I can find me or not. It is a chance. Nostalgic, longing, indifference… everything and nothing at the same time it is the inner part of... I cannot reach any point where I can say “yes I feel something”. I do not feel anything. I see my future and I only foresee uncertainty. I look at my past and I only can discover bright-dark-terrible-great moments. I regret, of course I do. But I am not repentant of what I’ve done. I stare at my present and I only see how much work, tasks, assignments and a boring life I have. Routine has become my friend, my foe… my frenemy. It helps me to carry on but it is such a bitch. I need to breathe. My life needs holidays of me. But I am afraid I cannot leave me. I am condemned everlasting with me. I see the word “me”. It means a lot. It means ME! I think is too much: is fun, is responsible, is funny, is cautious, is joker, is obsessive, is relaxed, is ambitious, is fashion, is glutton, is tired, is dancer, is anger, is magic, is lost, is found, is enlighten, is medieval, is lucky, is debater, is love-lover, is intense, is writer, is amusement, is dramatic, is hilarious, is tragic, is comedy, is tear, is smile, is happiness, is sorrow, is passion, is indifference… is.
Is, is… am, is, are… All is about to be. “To be” proves the existence. If there is not “to be”, there is not existence. If there is not existence there is no Me. But There is. Oh hell no. Yes there is. Well, no. Anyhow. I miss the time when I was nostalgic. I turn up my head and try to find where I found myself on the way. Maybe I can find the hint of my troubles. Happy, energy, hope… everything and nothing is in the inner part of… I cannot find any point where I can say “Yes I am melancholic”. I only feel gladness. Life is so full of surprises, of things, of troubles, of joy, of bad times, of friends, of egocentric people, of success, of tiredness, of peace moments, of war times, of treaties, of knowledge, of ignorance, of life… of death.
Existence and life. So complicated. Too much. Too much. But too much. It is more than an ocean of water, and ocean of knowledge, an ocean of love… is a universe. Big, big universe. Immeasurable. At any moment it will explode. For sure. My eyes are witnesses of all. It is not nice.
Life is a possibility. Its contingency makes all so… -there is no word, nor definition- Its contingency makes all so… [ ]. I really feel sorry for those who “am, is, are” in this (no-word) life.
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