Monday, January 31, 2011

Back to abnormal


My daily return ticket to a place called “Nothing”. And yet, there was a time when I believed it was “Everything”. Things seemed to fit in perfectly with my scattered life. A piece of anger here. A spice of agony there. A portion of greed somewhere else. An excess of ambition nearby. A pinch of ignorance close enough. A filling of ambition everywhere. Then, suddenly…

A feeling of emptiness, emulating my bewildered self, as I look into the mirror, whispering songs I once adored,.., “how deep is your love?”, swaying into a wonderful Saturday night fever, absorbed by the incredible folly that on the other side I would see someone smiling.

I’m back. To “Nowhere”. Just got off the plane, left my baggage at the airport, and started walking towards the cavity I have secretly, all these years, reserved for my formidable moments. There, i’m confronted by a terrible anxiety that I could be right. That my mistakes are nothing more than advantages that have strayed away. That, family is special. That people are different. That friends are what friends are meant to be.

Then? I am lonely again. And I wander through the streets of the city I once loved, guessing why. The city which is no more. The city which is just full of houses with “empty chairs and empty tables”. Touching angry passer-by’s I reek throughout, I spend myself, I shout. I fume, and I burn out. I hide my better parts, I give away the worst, dismiss the residuals of a friendship I once believed in, and now I watch it die.

I talk so much, and yet I say nothing. I wonder so much, and yet I get nowhere. I think so much, and yet my head is empty. My hope lies in the process of elimination – starting from myself. When that is over (and I feel that time, now, is on my side), what follows will be easy, apocalyptic and sweet redemption… I pray. I hope. And I think I know……

1 comment:

  1. really deep.

    Forgive me the curiosity... but what it means to you to write in English. Someone can feel the same soul quality, yet the sentiment is different.

    Maecenas

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