This feels weird for all these times all I have done with my feelings have been but bottling them. Now that I begin to write everything seems to pour out incandescently. I read through here time and again, not lurking but just every once in a while. And some stories do baffle me, some I have seen but the ones related to love that is kinda different for me. Am I some sort of sociopath, well that is a question for some other time? I have been in love but my experience was kinda different. you know how in novels they feel butterflies in the stomach, is this feeling even real? Am I the only one incapable of these emotions or are these poems and proses but all pretend? I have seen people become blinded by the thought but for me, all I seem to have is this mutual feeling to care rather than the whole experience of love. Is finding somebody to fall for too complicated or is it just me?
- MAN – A Confession
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Maybe I have lost touch with the meaning of life. For I have taken things for granted for all this time. Not that I do not acknowledge this gratitude for having whatever it is I have, not that much to be honest. I have lost touch trying to become anything but what I am today.
Is this satisfaction suffocating me and blocking me from what I could become. But what do I transform to, when I am still trying to figure out what do I like? I know a lot of dreams have been given up here, and a lot of dreams made. Some sacrificed because it seemed too unreal, some for the comfort of life. I do not care about any of these, the struggle, these comfort they will not matter only if I could know what I want to do. For those that have figured out, how did you know or did you cave in the first thing you did or become?
Not sure if this mounts to confession but what the hell do I know.
Drifting with life
the melodies swept me away
when I opened my eyes
In lullabies of melancholy
the memories I knew,
the life as I knew it
seemed to fade away
