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.

Searching for water, hoping for rain...

The path ahead isn't always clear. We make plans and we calculate how we think our circumstances deserve to unfold, yet we refuse to learn that no amount of predictions can prepare us for the moment when our future actually comes to fruition. We try to shield ourselves from the inevitable pain of being alive, of loss, of love, but the true reality of growing up means that we will be forced to face demons we never even realised existed. Bombs drop left and right, and as I try to find shelter, I am paralysed as the world comes crashing around me. I raise my weapons, because despite everything, it is not over. I am not over.

He watches the memories of who he was slowly burn, and as he starts leading a life he never thought he would, he welcomes the fire of change, for only through the ashes of all that once was, can he rise anew. It is a tale told a thousand fold, yet it holds no lesser meaning when applied to a specific journey. To a specific life. His life. He has been here before, as all you silent voyeurs can attest to. He has written these words, and he has felt this sorrow. What is different though? What more can he learn that he hasn't yet? Does the road ahead hold even greater challenges? Ones he can only phantom if he survives his most recent blunder? As always, only time will tell, and since forever, time is never really time at all.

Wisdom of the fallen...

The life I am living right now seems so unreal, I can barely keep up. It's not that I'm doing anything that special or doing it with people who are beyond anything that I've ever imagined - it's more about how I don't really feel like myself, and I almost forgot how much I enjoy being out of my comfort zone. How I take pleasure in the simple notion that I am once again becoming someone new, someone greater perhaps. My parts are forming a different picture, and the mosaic of my journey has never been as beautiful. I'm making mistakes, I'm learning from them, and I am treating my occasional solitude as an opportunity to find out something new about myself. The way I inhale, the way I talk, the way I move, the way I make people fall in love with me, the way I fall in love ... it's a whole new playing field, and boy ... do I love playing the game.

I'm free to be the greatest here tonight...

Lets throw our arms up into the sky...

Watching through my fingers,

shut my eyes and count to ten.

It goes in one ear out the other,

burning bright right untill the end.

Now you'll be missing from the photographs,

missing from the photographs.

My sickly heart...

His inherent solitude is starting to get to him. Did he make a mistake coming here? Was his pursuit of a better life, of something different, in vain? While this journey is far from over, and his most recent blunders come at him with full force, he wonders if perhaps the universe has once again played a trick on him. Making him see things that weren't actually there. A fantasy that can never truly come to fruition. He ponders all these thoughts as he lies in bed, sick from his constant need to be in motion, and as all his nightmares slowly come true, he realises that in order to survive this, he'll have to try harder to maintain his sanity. He tries to remember her lessons - not everything has to happen in a day, and the path of a traveller has to be analysed through the eyes of those who never move an inch. This too shall pass, he whispers to himself, and as he lays his head on a pillow, he forces himself to believe that courage doesn't always have to roar; sometimes it is the quite voice, simply saying: I will try again tomorrow. 

The sum of his parts...

Watching through my fingers...

I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore. I try to gather my thoughts into a cohesive collection of guidelines I could learn from and navigate my future with, but I can't seem to focus. It all seems like this blur that's happening to someone else, and I am merely the spectator. Nothing is really wrong, but also nothing seems to be quite right. I feel like I'm floating somewhere between the clouds and the moon, directly in the middle of both gravitational pulls, waiting to be sucked towards one end or the other. I am changing, that much is for certain.

I've never been lonely. I've been in a room, I've felt suicidal, I've been depressed, I've felt awful - awful beyond all - but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me or that any number of people could enter that room and suddenly make me feel better. In other words, loneliness is something I've never been bothered with because I've always had this terrible itch for solitude. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am still here, and I have not given up on myself. I don't care if I stay up late at night thinking of the life I could have had; as long as I wake up to a brand new day, I know that I'll be just fine. And if I sense that I need to run towards my past addictions to ease the pain, I do so without being too harsh on myself. Because I will cultivate my thoughts until the day I die. I am stronger than depression and I am braver than loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me.