The Ordinary

 All I have ever wanted was the ordinary. 

I close my eyes and I imagine a world away from the sound, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and water. And close, real people. No phones, no noise, no world to be saved, no papers to be finished, no memories to keep you awake. Just silence. 

I open the eyes and hear the fury of life. Everlasting. The one that makes you want to smoke it all away, drink it till it disappears, numbing your feelings and conscience, drowning your own self, having the illusion that the next day it won't be there. Who cares of the fucking next day, if it can all go away for a couple of hours? Pretending to be a rock, when you are the one who needs to be caught. 

All I have ever wanted was the ordinary, the world behind closed eyes. 

164.

 There is a thunderstorm of words inside my mind, of dreams deferred, of what society has written for each of us and of how small and unaccomplished you feel for disobeying its rules, of feeling nothing but fear, and anger, and angst, and feeling your accomplishments, and battles so lost and insignificant. And still, you have to carry on, swimming on your own, as you are used to, not sinking deep into this huge wave you have no control over.