These past few days were a little bit raaaaandom for me. I didn’t feel great about seeing the routines as it was showed in front of my eyes. I had no idea whether I just kept thinking positive and doing what I needed to do, or have this prick pierced me like whatsoever in every minutes.
But who cares anyway?
I can feel my dreams are waving its hands, on the dock, waiting and softly whispering, “Let’s get going, girl! What are you waiting for now?” As I am going to sink more and more, I can’t help but staring helplessly – it’s like watching yourself dying beside you.
You know, the morning sunlight’s injecting me like it cares of me – but I even don’t give a shit with it. When the surroundings are loud and freaking annoying, I don’t care because it is what it is – it has nothing to do with my own little world which feels like punching them on the face. I could have made everything okay. But I don’t do that. You ask me why? Because it is NOT okay.
I’m missing the whiff of the ocean, the salty taste of ingesting the salt sea water and the peek of the wide blue horizon calmly swaying, seducing. It could be my best therapy, my ecstasy.
At this very moment, I can’t feel the joy. It’s just not right. I am happy with myself; but not with what happens with the routines. I blunt, and it is not only an idea. It’s real and dreadfully real.