The thoughts of an introvert child seeking his destiny in little things.
Lately, I've been asking myself why I always write sad and depressive things. The answer was easy. Happiness or plenty are not tangible feelings, they're not that present in our lives, and we mostly forget or cease believing in their existence.
I remember once I was doing a report on the computer, late at night, around 2 am. I suddenly felt like sitting in the floor, which I did; I wrapped my arms around my legs and layed my chin in my knees. Just like that, I felt plenty, I felt happy, I felt alive. Even if I had more homework to do, even if I had a mess in my life, for those minutes, everything was perfect and fine. I felt enough, filled, as if nothing else mattered, just that moment. But then, I immersed myself in my reality's darkness again.
When you feel nothing for a long time, not bad but neither good; you miss the action of feeling something. That's when you create feelings for yourself. Unluckily, you see happiness so far away, that you think you only have one option; create pain. When maybe, you only have to turn on the lights when it's dark, just open the door that leads to your own paradise. Why does it always seem so far away? Maybe because we forget, or we're so used to pain, that it seems easier, closer.
That's happiness, or at least, that's all I know about it. Either ignorance and naivety or a short fleeting moment, almost indescribable where everything in your life fits and you find yourself comfortable. You realise you're smiling and nothing matters anymore.
But then again, it hurts. You start realising you have flaws, you remember your battles, your scars, your past, the tears…
The only way I know to drain pain successfully is writing. That's when my feelings stream and I'm completely honest with myself. It's my escape.
Besides hiding it and lying to myself, promising everything will be okay, even when I tell my mind that I won't believe what he's saying anymore.
That's why I write sad things. And that's art after all, create beauty from destruction and pain. The beauty of the tragedy.
The only happy feeling you can have and actually feel, is love. But it's not that easy to talk about love, it's such a wide topic. And then again, it's easier to talk about heartbreaks.
Love is such a complicated feeling. It has levels; it's endless, but paradoxically, it has limits; it's hard to recognise and usually confused with other feelings, mostly with passion.
What's the difference between passion and love? Love is deeper and contains passion. But passion without love is similar to lust.
Thats why she was craving so desperately for his lips. He didn't mind it, he was lost and found something to hold on to. But it wasn't supposed to be that way.
Perhaps they can be friends. Like a coffin and the dead, brought together by destiny, fates intertwined for eternity, until someone decides to build a mall on the grave.