An honest thought
I’ve been wanting to write something meaningful about life for a while now. It is like all the sorrow, longing and hope that ever was and ever will be have been building up in my chest with no escape route, like a pressure cooker filled with beautifully carved sunsets, half-said goodbyes and sweet existential crises, all melting and spilling their peculiar essences to each other. Is like feeling that life has unveiled before your eyes with a wink; like when you know that things will be all right eventually, except you don’t know it yet because you’re halfway through the book of your own making. It is also like having to bear the secret of life to the cost of seeing people and you love drifting away, further, and further into the past, further and further into an everlasting nostalgia of golden moments that are no longer, of a version of yourself that just doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve been struggling for quite sometime now with that feeling. A couple of years ago I left home, and in ...