I spend most of my days in my room, on my bed, and under my blanket. But my mind? Oh, my mind travels faster than the speed of light. It jumps from one topic to another, from Venice to California. How can the view of what's in front of me be so blurry, yet the images of places I've never been, clearer than any crystal? This desperation to travel has nothing to motivate it, so I stay trapped in my own little world with no strength and hope of turning it into reality.
But maybe if I turn my dreams into reality, they wouldn't fascinate me. Is it true that you only want what you can’t have? My dreams are no less than riding a rollercoaster while being on LSD. I am flying, I am winning, and I am living. Living! What a word. We breathe and grow, so we're living. Sounds simple enough. But what about the pain that makes us wish we weren't? The lost aspirations and broken experiences that tempt us into believing that being a part of the soil would be much, much better than facing our demons every day.
I have had my fair share of experiences, some good, some bad, but none bad enough to tempt me to follow this fate. So why? Why do I desperately want to get rid of my own self? The lack of a reason is what infuriates me the most. Maybe if I had a reason, an excuse, something I could put the blame on, then maybe just maybe I'd have a better understanding of why I feel the way I do. But I don't. I come from an average family, have good friends, proper food, shelter, education, and heck, even a lover. I have it all. So why do I feel like there's a giant piece missing? Why am I not content when I have more than most? These ‘whys’ and ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’. Oh, how I feel them like parasites feeding on my soul. This brings me to the final question. Is my sadness real or is it just in my head? Is there even a difference?
Written by Kar