It's all part of the plan...

See me soar...

Sometimes I feel like if you just watch things, just sit still and let the world exist in front of you - sometimes I swear that just for a second time freezes and the world pauses in its tilt. Just for a second. And if you somehow find a way to live in that second, then you would live forever.
Because to tell you the truth, the thing I'm most afraid of ... is time. I mean, I'm afraid of not having enough of it. Not enough time to understand people, how they really are, or to be understood myself. I'm afraid of the quick judgements or mistakes everybody makes. Those you can't fix. I guess I'm afraid of seeing snapshots, not movies. Of watching and not seeing. Of time passing through me, instead of me passing through time.

I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes, then you are trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more importantly, you're doing something. So that's my wish for you, and all of us. Lets make new mistakes - glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. Don't freeze, don't stop, don't worry that it isn't good enough, or it isn't perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life. Whatever it is you're scared of doing, Do it. Make your mistakes, next year and forever.

Hard time forgiving, even harder forgetting...

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings. So as I start to embrace the new love and lust that I have somehow stumbled upon, I naturally digress back to the one that was taken from me before. It staring me in the face on a daily basis, also perhaps helps manifest feelings of melancholy, reminding me that despite what was lost, there was so much gained because of the bond we once shared. Some things are eternal, and that doesn't mean there isn't room for something else, something new, something that has yet to flourish its purest form. Something exciting. Something that despite all odds, takes your breath away. And that something ... is you.

Broke to what became...

Took me for granted, 

but call it love if you will.

I'm aware of this,

I did let you in.

Sink for you to swim,

dancing on the ledge,

tried to make you stay,

I did let you win.

Run them down...

The fireworks went on for nearly half an hour, great pulsing strobes, fiery dandelions and starbursts of light brightening both sky and water. It was hard to tell which was reality and which was reflection, as if there were two displays, above and below, going on simultaneously - one in space-time, and the other in time-space. One in his heart and one in his soul. As the night sky slowly turned pitch black once more, he wished days like this weren't so fragile and slippery and impossible to nail down for study in one's leisure. Because as it so happens, the really great moments pass through him like whispers or shadows. They shimmer, but don't adhere. They touch, but never hold on.

Just a perfect day...

Waking up a little bit older...

His million reasons to stay...

As we sat next to each other, reliving what felt like our entire relationship, your eyes were the same colour as the sea in a postcard someone sends you when they love you, but not enough to stay. I could barely believe, how even after all this time, no one can quite set me ablaze like you. Something as little as an unfair accusation, that I would brush off coming for anyone else, sets me down an all to familiar spiral. I guess as much as I'd like to believe that the wounds of us are nothing more than scars, I would be a fool not to admit that deep down, there is something still lurking in both of us. Something sinister.

You can run away from yourself as often as you want, but somehow the broken pieces of glass that cut your feet follow you every step of the way. But what happens if you manage to stumble upon someone who has the strength and courage to pick those pieces up? Would that mean that you wouldn't have to run away anymore, or at least wouldn't get cut when you would? Could that perhaps mean, that you you could stop wandering the endless road - that if someone sees you as something worth staying with - maybe you'll stay with yourself, too. Because when we stay locked up in the spectrum of unsolved life stories and keep hiding in an arcane prism, life remains a mystery behind perpetual tensions and a journey in a world beyond appearances. So while my life was pouring out my feet and seeping through cracks in the floor; I knelt and did not move, for fear you'd let go my hands. "Let me stay", I wanted to beg: "Please don't make me go."

His million reasons to walk away...

There's a trick about the passing of time no one ever tells you about. It begins with the vision to recognise when something has come to an end - and then simply let it go. It means leaving what's over without denying its validity or its past importance to our lives. It involves a sense of future, a belief that every exit line is an entry, that we are moving up, rather than out. So even though it might feel like we are a hundred years old; waiting for the end, let us take this moment and remember the beginning. There are things I need to tell you, but would you listen if I told you how quickly time passes? I know you are unable to imagine this. Nevertheless, I can tell you that you will awake someday to find that your life has rushed by at a speed at once impossible and cruel. The most intense moments will seem to have occurred only yesterday and nothing will have erased the pain and pleasure, the impossible intensity of love and its dog-leaping happiness, the bleak blackness of passions unrequited, or unexpressed, or unresolved. Nothing can shield you from this, for as we have come to learn together - time is never time at all.

My old leather...

If I had a highway, I would run for the hills,

if you could find a dry way, I'd forever be still,

but you're giving me a million reasons,

so I bow down to pray,

and I try to make the worst seem better -

Lord, show me the way.

Everything is like yesterday...

As the year starts collapsing into the next, his desire to see it through with grace and dignity becomes increasingly difficult. Life keeps testing him, and friends that are supposed to lift him up, stir boiling anger within. "I will not succumb to my lesser instincts" he whispers to himself. "I will not lower myself to your level - there is too much at stake." He takes a few more moments to centre himself and gather what is left of his resolve to quench his burning pride. He tries to remind himself of all the good that once existed - of our happiness and joy and pain endured, but it is next to impossible, when the person standing beside him is someone he can no longer recognise. Someone who let their pain rule their life, and is as hell bent on passing it along, as he is to stop you.

Let me know...

Someone told me to leave all my sorrow...

It's astonishing how I manage to stubbornly progress towards a supposedly higher state of being, while my entire world is on the brink of crashing around me. I guess it wouldn't be any fun if it came easy, and it wouldn't mean as much either. Change is only worth it, when one has to endure to achieve it, otherwise everyone would be able to claim evolution where there in fact wasn't any. Change is for the brave and young at heart. It requires nothing else but the ability to see your reflection in the mirror, and the realisation that at any given moment, the reflection isn't real.

I have to de-program myself from myself. Somehow find my way out of the labyrinth of lies and deception I have created with this damaged psyche. I must reinvent my rituals of purification. I am so full of the vagrant pollution of others that it is time to detox. Not only from my addictions, but also needy leeches who looked to swab me with their sores - to detox from my own needy lechery. I have to locate the centre wound and cauterise. Stitch it up and wait for it to heal. To undo the original sin, the origin of my sickness - to finally learn to replace my wants, hurt, anger, sorrow, and loss, with power, healing, wisdom, fulfilment and satisfaction. To find myself once more.

It takes backpacks and a suitcase...

As great as I could, knock on wood...

Someone just told me that there's no tomorrow,

and if that is true, I don't know what to do.

Guess then these troubles are out of my hands,

guess then I'm free to use them to clap and dance.

Remember when we didn't know what to be?

I can admit that was somewhat bittersweet.

guess then these troubles are out of my hands,

guess then I'm free to use them to clap and dance.

I've worn out the world...

Countless times, I have imagined a rising through the rivers of this land, to the surface of a promised oasis, built on the foundations of past lives, of streams of consciousness to be found again, pulled into the air by new hands. The possibilities are endless, but most often I imagine being found by myself from another time - offering guidance and hope. Above me, the sky shimmers and undulates blue through transparent spring water, reminding me that despite the inferno raging in my heart, the world around me offers titbits of tranquillity. I use my hands to break the surface and pull my deluded soul into the air and into uncharted territory of the universe. The delicate bones of my arms and ribs absorb the voice of reckoning, shattering the knowledge of what is possible, and once again, I feel whole.

The tallest man on Earth...

Life is a chase, and if you chase anything, chase the things that get you excited about living. Chase the things that give you hope, happiness and a glimpse of a better life. Chase the things that make you want to be a better person. Chase the things that inspire you to think, create and live joyfully. Chase the things that reinforce in your soul that you can make a difference. Chase the things that make you want to transform your heart from selfish to selfless. When you chase that kind of storm you are chasing rainbows.

If I have learned anything in this whirlwind of a month, it is that you can’t plan out or perfectly schedule the big moments in your life. They just happen to you when they happen. One day you are rushing through the city, pondering over all the things you still need to do, and a single thought crosses your mind that completely changes the way you see the world. Or when you're ready to go to sleep, and you get a message from someone you believed was already long part of your history, and has now been thrusted with full force back into your story. Things happen - sometimes because you made them happen and sometimes because you couldn’t stop them from happening. And in that uncertainty lies the beauty of being alive - why you and I, are suddenly intertwined. Why you and I might last for a lifetime. 

Give up the ground under your feet...

I'm reflecting light...

I have failed you. As life comes at me with full force, and days turn into weeks in seconds, I find that the one thing that always kept me afloat, has now become an after thought. My mind is spinning with thoughts and the sheer hassle of not breaking down is keeping me from all of you. I will try harder, I promise, but I hope you understand that as strong as I project to be, somewhere deep inside still lurks the timid young boy who ran away from the world and started this thing that is not a blog. We were always stronger together, I think I just forgot that for a little while. And sometimes, when change and evolution does not come naturally, it has to be forced. Walls need to be torn down and burnt into ash. Eyes need to shut, blood needs to be spilled and as always, one must reach for the moon if you ever hope to land on a star.

Living in a gamble...

Catch a boat to England, baby, 

maybe to Spain?

Wherever I have gone, 

wherever I've been and gone,

wherever I have gone -

the blues run the game.

That day we met in November...

Sleeping on the floor...

If you are broken, you do not have to stay broken.

Yesterday was the first time I wrote something and didn't immediately post it. As I was reading my words and the sorrow I have somehow found myself in, and as I let it sink in that I am perhaps not as strong as I pride myself to be, I suddenly couldn't bare to publish it. Not because I'd be ashamed of what I was feeling or somehow wanted to appear strong - there is no censorship here. What I write is what I feel, and what I feel is always and forever something legitimate. Yet even I have the right to say no to my psychosis. I have the right to look it into the eyes and say: not today. You will not get the best of me today.

Lets blow smoke through the window...

I'm sorry for all the pain...

Wherever love goes there is also misery, 

it's no mystery.

Wherever love flows there is also tragedy -

when we're in too deep,

and you and I, we got history.

Nocturnal animals...

I really wanted to be this person that you thought I was.

I'm not in search of sanctity, sacredness, purity; these things are found after we die, not in this life; but while I am on this journey I search to be completely human: to feel, to give, to take, to laugh, to get lost, to be found, to dance, to love and to lust, to be so human that I am the envy of our gods themselves. All this I say because I believe that the desire to please you does in fact - please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone. Solitude, my friend, this is for you.

Blinding light where his heart is...

He does not travel to go anywhere, but to simply go. He travels for travel's sake. To experience life and himself in it. The great affair is to move - to be in perpetual motion and discover places the past has shaped into the present. What instils a haunting dread in him is that feeling when he is driving away from people and they recede on the plain until even their specks disperse. In that moment the world shapes into its entire glory - vaulting and everlasting. But as he leans forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies, he realises, now more than ever, that he will never be content with a sedentary life, that he will always be chased by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere. So he writes; he travels; he becomes, until the end of his days.

What pride had wrought...

Everyone makes mistakes, and I've for sure made many. Some taught me to be a better person, others simply tore away at my pride, yet each single one introduced me to a new way of thinking about myself. How I fit into this mad world, what I can expect from it, where I can run and hide when the storm simply becomes too much to bear ... What I found to be true as well, is that every time I think I've fallen as far as one can, life has a way of digging you into an even deeper hole. Not that I'm complaining, because if anything I've learned to enjoy the fall. Maybe even a little too much, a little too carefree.

As the winds turn, he finds himself a stranger in a sea of people he once called friend. He sees them reverting back to old patterns, and he recoils. For certainly the most destructive vice that a person can have, is self-pity.. It is a subset of hatred - it destroys everything around it, except itself. It will destroy even the strongest of bonds; it'll destroy anything that's good; it will fulfil all the prophecies it makes and leave only itself. And it's so simple to imagine that one is hard done by life, and that things are unfair, and that one is underappreciated, and that if only one had had a chance at this, if only one had had a chance at that, things would have gone better, you would be happier. All those things that gnaw at our soul, and some of them may well even be true, but alas none can be solved while you burn yourself at the stake, watching every promise you've ever made slowly turn into ash.

Come and find me...

Holding on by a thread...

Skipping through the days to come home,

a million conversations, auto-pilot steer flow, 

I'm on my one man mission -

eyes down take note.

This is the greatest gift from everything I've ever hated, 

from all this figuring life's shit that's got me jaded, 

this doubting got me under-rated,

this is my mechanism, moving forward isolated.

Our memories, like a symphony...

When you're alone, do you say my name?

He realised, though surely not for the first time, but some lessons need to be repeated, that he doesn't have to be what other people want. He doesn't have to be interesting, agreeable or entertaining. He doesn't have to tone himself down, quiet his voice or hide his feelings. He doesn't have to be outgoing or spontaneous or sociable. He doesn't have to buff up or make his hair everyday, and he doesn't have to be anyone else apart from who he authentically is, even if that means being a wanderer till the rest of his days. Above all, he sure as hell doesn't have to spend time and energy convincing people that he is worth their time and keeping around. The right people have already, and will again recognise his worth. They are going to respect, appreciate and understand him, without forcing him to compromise. Life is too fleeting and far too short. Especially his, as new truths come to light, and threaten to destroy all he his built. 

A fire always burning...

The great escape...

When you believe that you are damaged at your core, you also believe that you need to hide that damage for anyone to love you. You walk around ashamed of being yourself. You try hard to make up for the way you look, walk, feel. Decisions are agonising because if you, the person who makes the decision, is damaged, then how can you trust what you decide? You doubt your own impulses so you become masterful at looking outside yourself for comfort. You become an expert at reinventing, at striving and trying hard and then harder to change yourself, but this process only reaffirms what you already believe - that your needs and choices cannot be trusted, and left to your own devices you are out of control. But if anything, believe this: you are not a mistake. You are not a problem to be solved. You are you, and that's quite all right. That's quite all right with me.

Incarcerated late at night...

I keep coming back here to write, because I feel a stronger connection to life, and life is just a bundle of words that add up to stories. And even tough our tales seem finite, you'd have to figure that as soon as someone else adds a word, by ripple effect, they go on forever in each direction. It's really crazy if you think about it, isn't it? A hundred years ago a man scribbled down something on a tiny bit of paper, and then he had a son, who had a son, who had me, then suddenly those words on that tiny piece of paper were part of a greater whole. Then that got me thinking ... what if we're all part of this unending scripture, and our stories start even before we are born? What if we're able to write even after we die? And all those words just keep piling onto each other until they become one? One story. One life?

People we've know since always will one day disappear - they will die and be turned into ash or buried deep withing the earth. It will happen sometime in the future. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe years from now. It's kind of magical if you take the time to ponder it. The fact that just because someone dies, just because you can't see them or talk to them, it doesn't mean they're gone or that they aren't part of your story anymore. Perhaps that is the point of it all. There's no dying. There's no saying goodbye. There's no you or me or them ... it's just us. And this sloppy, colourful, wonderful thing that has no beginning ... no end ... I think this is us telling our story. One word at a time, until we are forever connected. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think I am finally okay with the fact that you died, and all these words you read here ... this is for you and me. This is for us.

October I'll remember...

Down in the world below...

Downtown we let it go,

sunset high and our bodies low.

Blood rush in the hazy glow,

my hands, your bones,

loose up we break the scene.

One step deep as you fall to me,

heart clap, we skip a beat.

Count one two three,

and don't you stop the music,

get into it -

won't you dance with me?

Sadness grows when you're cold...

He slowly rolled out of bed, still in a haze from the nightmares that haunted his dreams. The queen size bed made him feel like he was lost in an ocean, yet as he slowly regained consciousness, even the bed felt tainted - mainly because it wasn't his. It was an inner-spring monument to lies, a petri dish of mendacity he had shared with everyone he once called family, lover, friend and shared now with creeping thoughts that flew from the light but left harsh scratches and diseased black feathers. He promised himself that, as soon as he could, he would rid himself of this life that was forced upon him, this bed, his clothes, his black glasses - everything but the flesh he lived in. He would scrub himself clean and flee to start a new life whose first and only commandment would be: never let thyself fall so far again.

His war without weapons...

All we do is feel the fade...

I feel upside down, and I can't seem to find my paradise again. I'm torn between the life I lived, the stars I touched, the people I met, and the world I came back to. Everything feels so foreign. My skin, the faces of my friends - it's as if everything morphed as I was busy chasing my dreams. I forgot how the little things actually matter to me. From my stupid stories, to laughing with the people I love and those who love me back. My world is a whirlwind, and if nothing else, this new found confusion is shedding light to the darkness that still lurks in the corners of my soul. Mark my words, this period shall not define me. I will come back better and stronger than ever. With a twinkle in my eyes and a renewed sense of purpose. But until that day arrives, I will hide away within myself, and try to navigate the storm as best I can. I will play it safe and dream of a tomorrow when I am once again on the ground.

The ghost of your touch...

Hiding the cracks...

I've never been afraid of the highest heights

or afraid of flying now.

I've never been afraid of the wildest fights -

not afraid of dying

But now I want off this ride 'cause you're scaring me,

 and I don't like where we're going.

And I know you're gonna miss me

because you changed the way you kiss me.

A million reasons to quit the show...

And in that moment he knew, knew for sure, with an absolute certainty, that this is rock bottom, this is what the worst possible thing feels like. It is not some grand, wretched emotional breakdown. It is, in fact, so very mundane. Rock bottom is an inability to cope with the commonplace that is so extreme it makes even the grandest and loveliest things unbearable. It is feeling that the only thing that matters in all of life is the one bad moment - nothing that came before has any value or substance. Rock bottom is everything out of focus. It’s a failure of vision, a failure to see the world how it is, to see the good in what it is, and only to wonder why the hell things look the way they do and not ... and not some other way.

Blues run the game...

Writers remember everything ... especially the hurts. Strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he'll tell you the story of each one. From the big ones you get novels. A little talent is a nice thing to have if you want to be a writer, but the only real requirement is the ability to remember the story of every scar. Because art consists of the persistence of memory. So do not sit still; start moving, because scars can only be gained in motion. In the beginning, you may not go in the direction you want, but as long as you are moving, you are creating alternatives and possibilities. Do it. Do it badly; do it slowly; do it fearfully; do it any way you have to, but do it nonetheless.

Life isn't as magical here, and you're not the only one who feels like you don't belong, or that it's better somewhere else. But there are things worth living for. And the best part is you never know what's going to happen next, what lurks behind the corner, who you'll meet when you least expect it. Life is a steamroller and all you can do is try to enjoy it, because it will be over sooner than you think. So all he is left with is the magic of believing in himself, believing in his quixotic ambition, letting the failures of the previous day disappear as each new day dawned. Yesterday was not today, and the past did not predict the future if he could learn anything at all from his mistakes.

I write this song for me...

I feel as if the future I had planned is slipping through my grasp, more so than ever before. I knew coming back would be an adjustment, I just never imagined I would have so much difficulty morphing back into my old life. Perhaps it is because I am no longer who I was, ever slightly different, maybe even with an everlasting scar that I will forever need to hide. Time stands still as I take another breath and not even closing my eyes shoos the demons away. I find that as always, I am alone. Stranded by my own accord, her promise, and their unwillingness to see past the superficial. The road ahead is paved with potholes and is shrouded in a mist of fog. The people by my side vanish into thin air, and I am left with nothing but my shadow and that same old stupid grin on my face.

My heart still beats for you...

Counting days and weeks...

I met you in the dark, you lit me up,

you made me feel as though I was enough.

We danced the night away, we drank too much,

then you smiled over your shoulder,

and for a minute, I was stone-cold sober.

I knew I loved you then,

but you'd never know,

because I played it cool

when I was scared of letting go.

Please say you won't let go...

Now everybody knows...

He is strong, but he is also tired; tired of always having to be the strong one, of always having to do the right thing. Of being presented with impossible choices, yet somehow being expected to sail towards calmer seas. So as he looked out at the horizon, he realised that for the first time there was nowhere to go, nowhere left to run, and he just had to stay here, facing this terrible truth. He felt, as more tears fell, just how exhausted he actually was, a tiredness that had nothing to do with the hour. He was tired of chasing a dream that will forever remain a fantasy, tired of pretending to be more put together than he actually is, tired of not talking about it, tired of pretending things were okay when they had never, ever been less than okay. Tired, tired with nothing, tired with everything, tired with the world’s weight he had never chosen to bear.

Until he's grey and old...

I am clumsy ... I drop my phone all the time and hit my leg into something at least three times a day. I read endless amounts of sappy blogs and can recite my favourite quotes by heart. I have an obsession with being put together and I will always answer the phone - unless I really don't like you. I think I have a dream, but most of the days I'm still sleeping. The grass is cut. It smells like strawberries. Today is the beginning of something new. The old has gone and passed and I cleaned my drawers. Do you believe in the power of the universe? And can I tell you about Icarus? How he flew too close to the sun? I want to make coming here and reading my words your favourite part of the day. I want to leave tiny little pieces lingering in your mind, on nights when you're far away and can't sleep. I want to make everything around us beautiful; make small things mean a little more. Make you feel a little more. A little better, a little lighter. I want to be someone you can't live without.

He travels and in the end will never be kept. But if you understand him well enough, he’ll always be by your side. He might have forgotten where his home is in this world - but you might just make him feel like the closest thing to feeling at home. And while he’ll be leaving again real soon, this is the way you will never leave his heart. Because home is where you go to find solace from the ever changing chaos, to find love within the confines of a heartless world, and to be reminded that no matter how far you wander, there will always be something waiting when you return. Yet it could not be his home till he had gone from it and returned to it. Now he was the prodigal son. 

Like a feather never on the ground...

Lost in my dreams...

As I say goodbye to the life I never expected to lead, I realise that my heart is about to explode from my chest. I dared not imagine to form such connections. This was supposed to be my escape to figure things out in a place unburdened with my past, yet as it turns out, this journey shall forever remain stitched within my mind, as the place I truly let go, moved on, and found the missing pieces of a soul broken long ago. I feel renewed - as strong and tall as I've never been before. With a new sense of purpose and pride for what has been achieved, and a glimpse in my eyes for the potential the future still holds. I fell in love, when I felt like I couldn't anymore, and I fell in love knowing that my departure was eminent; rationality be damned! My heart was stolen, and I was happy to give it away, because if nothing else it still beats as loud as ever, and instead of shedding tears because of our goodbye, I shall smile for you made me realise that despite everything, I am worthy. Worthy of love, worthy of time, worthy of happiness. Worthy of you.

His shield and sword...

There's a stirring in this head of mine,

I can't find the things I knew,

and there's a shadow where I used to shine

that tries to hide behind the smoke.

Through the storm, angels sleep,

when I'm miles from home, counting days and weeks.

If I'm never lost in your dreams,

when I lose my heart, bring it back to me -

please bring it back to me.

A shadow where I used to shine...

Prišel je čas, ko besede niso več dovolj.

He wakes up with a blazed underchest. It's time. He's going to make a break for freedom. He will not be a slave anymore. It's quite simple, he thinks; grab your things, run outside, and then ... there you are. Free at the first light of day. Behind him is his past - everything he came from, everything that he thought he knew. He runs and starts to listen to the voices that deny, but he hears nothing. So he stops and listens closer. What is that? Is it nothing? Or it is stillness? As he ponders what to do next, he keeps himself warm, and retells his story of escape. He looks over his shoulder and he wonders: is someone coming after him or is someone coming to save him? He waits for a miracle, for the sea to part. But what if the miracle is him? What if he has to be his own messiah? Then what?

Through the storm angels sleep...

Bring it back to me...

I was asked why I still do this. You know, spit out words on this thing that is not a blog, which takes pride in its inherent anonymity. And my answer has always stayed the same. Because no matter how small or insignificant my words are, they are still part of the beauty of finding oneself through writing and reading. Coming here day after day helped me discover that my longings are universal, that I'm never truly lonely and isolated from anyone. I belong here, with all of you, repeating words and running in circles. For inside all of us there is the need and the desire to be heard, to have our innermost thoughts, feelings and fantasies expressed for others to hear, to see and to understand. We all want to matter to someone, to leave a mark. This is mine.

As he dares to look around him, really taking in his surroundings, it looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon. Summer was indeed coming to an end, and with it his latest foyer into the unknown. He still cannot quite grasp the magnitude of it - perhaps it will be easier to write about once he comes back home. But as always, when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles into your favourite chair, it takes out its pipe, covering the room with smoke and with stories of places and things done since last you met. At long last saying goodbye to what was and smiling for what has yet to come.

Fixing up my car...

Another scar may bless you...

Well, uh-oh, running out of breath,

uh-oh, running now, I close my eyes,

and oh yeah, running to the waves below,

and oh yeah, I'm running and I've just enough,

and uh-oh, I got stamina.

Don't give up, I won't give up,

don't give up, no no no.

Because I'm free to be the greatest, I'm alive.

I'm free to be the greatest here tonight.

Down upon the canvas...

With full awareness of my repetitiveness, I write these words so they shall really sink in. You must make a decision that you are going to move on. It wont happen automatically. You won't wake up one day and notice yourself being lighter, with the weight of past disappointment miraculously gone. You will have to rise up and say: I don’t care how hard this is, I don’t care how disappointed I am, I’m not going to let this get the best of me. You have to be strong enough to believe that your life is worth fighting for. Because in the end, once the rain has washed away every single bit of pain, a realisation shall sink in. Letting go doesn't mean that you don't care about someone anymore or that it was a mistake inviting them into your life. Letting go is the simple notion of accepting that the only person you really have control over is yourself. So do it. Decide. Not for the people around you who are fed up with your self-pity. Decide because it's right. Because it's right for you.