Grey

Lately I’ve been thinking, that is if I am still capable of critical thinking in the sense I put in critical. I’ve become everything I was afraid of. I’m a prosaic person. I can’t feel. I can’t think. I can’t live. I just go on – day in, day out. There’s nothing for me. All I think about is the past. It seems much better than it really was I guess. But in my worst moments I did things – I took hold of the immense feeling that conquered my being and I translated it on a piece of paper. I read (with a feeling). I made photos. I was really interested in the world, even though it was a morbid fascination. Now… there’s nothing. Once I wrote that everything is grey. Well, it wasn’t. Now I know what grey is. I know I have to find myself again but it’d be a long journey. And even if I do, I’m not sure if I would be capable of the feelings I had a couple of years ago. Is happiness a disease? 

Now is forever

We are not even allowed to be crazy. We can’t be crazy. There is always someone to think about. Someone to care about. Someone to live for. The notion of the choice we have is just a freckle of imagination. We can’t die if we want to. Cause there is always someone we have to live for. Someone we have to love.

We do not have a choice. Life is obligatory.

But sometimes we have to die. Even if we don’t want to. To show the people we love the contrast. Between life and death. So that they can appreciate life. So that they can be, if not happy, reminded of happiness.

And yet at the same time we live with the fear, the enormous fear of demolishing ourselves. Or, even worse, the ones we love being send to oblivion; into the eternal darkness.

It’s a closed cycle. There’s no escaping. The only truth is the truth of the moment. What we feel, how we see. Everything outside now is irrelevant. There is nothing but now. Now is forever.

*The Hours

Neverwhere

When have I started hating and loving so fiercely? I don't whant these stupid feelings. But I'm afraid I'd have nothing left if I tried to throw them away. Nothing - emptiness and apathy. I'd be hollow. The worse is that I'm not sure which is the better alternative.

I'd kill you gladly. Or would I? No, I don't think I would. I want to sometimes but after all... I let you go. You didn't come back and I doubt that you will.

There are so many people that die every day prematurely. People that want to live. Why not spare them, shapeless and midnless and cruel being? Take the ones who wish life no more and save the ones who are happy and want to continue on their way! Take me.

Darkness there, and nothing more... is all I see.

Neverwhere. That's where I am.

An empty bed in an empty room.

Сама съм и трябва да се науча (отново) да живея сама. През всяка секунда от деня мисълта, че съм сама трябва да е с мен. Защото иначе няма как да спра да се надявам, а ако се надявам... Няма да дочакам нищо. Ще са празни надежди. А надеждата и вярата са ми толкова оскъдни в момента, че не мисля, че мога да ги пропилявам.

Живея сама. През по-голямата част от деня няма на кого да кажа и една дума. Но така е по-добре може би. Единственият проблем е, че обстановката предразполага мислене, мисленето извиква спомени, а спомените - болка. Може би след време ще се променят нещата, или аз ще ги променя по-точно. Но не днес, не сега.

Толкова искам да пътувам. Да видя света: черно-бял или цветен, пуст или гъмжащ, тъжен или страстен... Но не искам, не мога сама. А няма с кой. Дори преди нямаше с кой. И това ми разбива сърцето (колко още...). Аз съм си виновна. Дано се ((по))(на)уча от грешките си - да не ги повтарям; да се променя. А е толкова трудно да се промениш... Особено когато обичаш.

П.П. Вече имам цяла спалня само за себе си. Както преди. Но сега ще спя по средата. Saa nee...

Wound Red

I can hear the same voice calling crying out from my heart. And that cry, what a cry, what a cry it's going to be... If I can stop to let it out, oh.