Work in progress


There are people who leave traces on your soul as if they walk through high snow. They knock us down of our feet and then forsake our bundle of feelings in the middle of the dry- as-dust road. Yet, a lot of us never cease to throw ourselves in love just like maniacs never cease to hide pills under their tongue.

There is something so fascinating about our capacity to mold the enmity into friendship or hatred into love. Although the story remains unchanged – you know, one of us has to suffer in the end, there is no other way – it always looks like a new born. And, being stubborn by nature, we would never admit committing the same mistake, just like we would have never admitted, when we were children, stealing jam from our grandma’s pantry.

I guess that we just can’t help ourselves, it’s in our genes. We love to fall in love so that later we could fall into trouble; hurting ourselves means nothing if we find happiness doing it. It’s only when we stumble on the joy deep within our inner selves, that we can dare to make others feel it. Until then, we’re nothing but miserable flesh and bones who carry their fragile “wannabe souls” throughout life. We’re acting, not feeling, remaining dependable until we release the strings and run away. But that’s the trick: to do that, it takes a hell lot of guts which we don’t have and we never might.


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