I sometimes feel like I should shut my heart up by pulling its wires out. All I want is to feel the beautiful things that this world can create and has in its possession, but I can’t seem to be able to get away from hurt and dust. You can tell that it is not our place here. You can tell that we, the more sensible souls, shouldn’t be living in this catastrophic world. All they know is hate and anger and stabbing the people they love the most. All we know is pain, how to suffer in silence and how to swallow our tears.
I sometimes start to hate myself for dreaming of incredible places which I can visit, seas and greenery and rocks full of little bugs. Places with music and fresh air. Places where you can feel welcomed and mesmerized by. I hate myself for dreaming of waking up every morning next to a loving smile and a soft pair of arms holding my body in a tight and sensual grip. Or dreaming of being able to run around in circles in a park without caring about the grass stains and about the white dress that I would wear which would fly everywhere and break when I would fall and roll on the muddy soil.
I sometimes see myself running in my dreams. I see flower petals falling from the sky and my feet are bear and I seem much slimmer and my cheeks are pink and my skin a little bit orange. I feel like I am always running away from who I really am. I always feel like I am afraid or embarrassed of myself. Even my dreams agree with this. I just run, run endless minutes, hours. I run because I don’t belong, I don’t feel like I am part of something great anymore! I have lost my way.
I am letting the world transform me into a machine. Into a lifeless, heartless, thoughtless, emotionless empty vessel in which they can put whatever they feel like it is right, beautiful, clever and attractive. I am guilty of letting them get in. I am guilty of letting myself get lost in sad songs and happy memories which I know I will never get back. I am giving up and letting myself be absorbed by the nothingness that I feel more and more, with every tear that falls on my cheeks and my pillow when I sleep or not.
I am giving up because I have no more strength. I am too emotional, too weak. Yes, I know. A sick and exaggerated romantic. I might be. Idealist. Dreamer. Call me what you want. I am not sure anymore if I can be who I truly am and I am not sure that I can dream anymore like I used to, because it just seems like there is no more space under the infinite sky and millions of stars for lonely hearts like mine.