Wednesday, June 10, 2015


The things on my desk. I don't know where they go. Where can I fit all those things?
My mind is like my desk. Uninviting, unsafe... unreliable. 
I had a plan, which got interrupted, like it always does. 
And then I had a choice. 
I could make a new plan. A plan I would not have to carry on my own. A plan that would regenerate the light that I have nowadays lost. A plan that would briefly make me escape. But I can't escape. I always find myself wanting to work it through. But you can't work through what I have. Or maybe you can, but I don't think I can. Because I always find myself flirting with these ideas that I claim I have overcome. But do you really ever get over it? I don't think you do.

And what I try to deny is that maybe, just maybe, what I, still, really want to escape, is life itself. For I can embrace its simplicity and its complexity all at once, and it becomes so overwhelming and fulfilling, that everything else seems small. So small that I can overcome it without effort, and reach this state which I do not know how to share with the rest of the world, or maybe I do not want to share. And I've tried, and I never come through. 
So where do I fit in?

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