Дорога в совершенство

 

*I guess home was always some sort of prison and the place for all of the world’s problems that I was the reason of*.

 

And now, after all the laugh is spent, and the day is dead, and your best friend is a black sea away you finally come home.

 

*Today I found myself on the same summer-colored bed, in the darkest room of the house… Now, it’s also the messiest room… I only go there to sleep and wake up, even the sheets aren’t done…That room has been my torture chamber, there I, long ago, said farewell to myself… so many times. Before I used to keep it tidy, I covered my walls with collages and picked the brightest furniture… and used to clean my little room every Saturday…. Long ago I died there, since then I stopped visiting it*.

 

Now you lye there, in semi-darkness, at 4 am thinking that you finally stopped the chase and the past caught you… That little bit of time before you felt asleep was enough to break you down. Memories are predators, you are a victim and you are locked with them in a bright, but dark cage.

 

*In a way it’s funny and deadly sad in the same time how life seems so over. Being in that room again, again swallowing my own voice and chocking on it with only purpose: to hide. Ironical, same room, same bed, same tragedy. But on the second thought… computer is not there, nor are the pictures and candles I used to rearrange every week… Nor the memory box under my bed… nor the bold strict order of all the small and not needed things I kept… It feels like life changed without letting me know… *

 

Like anesthesia during the operation at which they want you awake: you know the time is passing and the changes will come but you are missing during those changes, the feeling is missing and all you get is a final result and not the process…

 

You think about how much time it would take to get over him… a summer? Maybe 6 month? A year? And then your mind plays through the future scenes of coming back, and you have to see him again, and you know exactly how it feels to be helpless, simply that weak. You know that you can’t, even in theory, to force yourself forget him, though you know some day you will have to… And you also know that the problem between you two is just you and the things you can’t hold inside.

 

*It so wasn’t that way but again life didn’t ask me when the changes were done*.

 

It is so hard to wait for the day you wake up with new changes waiting for you behind your little sunrise balcony door.