Everyone must stand alone...

I hear your voice,

it's like an angel sighing.

I have no choice,

feels like flying.

I close my eyes,

I think I'm falling,

out of the sky, 

I close my eyes,

heaven help me.

A good thing, a sure thing...

For neither ever, nor never...

I have found that in fact, we live three lives. The first one ends with the loss of naivety, the second, with the loss of innocence and the third with the loss of life itself. It’s inevitable that we go through all three stages, though they might differ in their impact. Something to remember is that the big things and the little things don't follow the same rules. We won't be able to change the grand scheme of things, but the details. We change a grain of sand, and with that, the whole world. It's a hard truth to accept, and so some people wander around their whole lives looking for a way out of the labyrinth, but there's only one path and it leads you ever deeper.

Pick me up and put me through it...

My face up to the sky...

He thought himself awake when he was already asleep. He saw the stars above his face, whirling on their silent and sleepless axis, and the leaves of the trees rustling against them, and he heard small changes in the grass. These little noises of footsteps and soft-fringed wing-beats and stealthy bellies drawn over the grass blades or rattling against the bracken at first frightened or interested him, so that he moved to see what they were, but never saw, then soothed him, so that he no longer cared to see what they were but trusted them to be themselves, and finally left him altogether as he swam down deeper and deeper, nuzzling into the scented turf, into the warm ground, into the unending waters under the earth.

I want something that will make this all worth it; I want the good stuff. I’m ready for the goddamn silver lining. I want my brother to live down the street, I want a family; I want a friend to call when I need to know the right temperature to cook a goddamn cake. I want Sunday suppers and summer barbecues at my house by the sea. I want to stop second-guessing every tiny detail of every single day, every word that comes out of my mouth. I want to be brave. I want to jump without looking down all the time. I want to decorate the room of my child. I want to laugh as we grow together and realise that such a love never existed before. I want one of those perfect families, those perfect packages. I want it to happen to me as well. Despite the odds. And this is my first step towards that.

Before there was you, there was silence...

When I was young, I felt immortal,

and not a day went by without a struggle.

I lived my days just for the nights,

I lost myself under the lights,

when I was young, I felt immortal.

When I was young, I prayed for lightning...

There's a pit in my stomach quite unlike before. I am completely unaware of how to get out of the rut I am in. I can visibly see everything I have slowly sliding from my grasp and I am unsure how to stop it. The things I say, the things I feel - none seem productive or as something that would lead me closer to happiness - whatever that may be. I am scared that I might do something drastic again. That my current psychosis will lead me back to where I once was. What exactly is the problem, though? What specifically is out of place? And if there is no clear answer, no visible guilty party, then despite what I may have hoped for, the common denominator is the only logical source of blame. The one thing that connects all of these events and traumas. To gaze upon it is simple … I merely need to look into a mirror.

The sound of my heart, the beat of my soul...

No time to hesitate...

Vsi se bojijo tišine pred nevihto ..

kaj pa tišine po njej?

How little we have, I thought, between us and the waiting cold, the mystery, death - a strip of beach, a hill, a few walls of wood or stone, a little fire - and tomorrow's sun, rising and warming us, tomorrow's hope of peace and better weather ... What if tomorrow vanished in the storm? What if time stood still? And yesterday - if once we lost our way, blundered in the storm - would we find yesterday again ahead of us, where we had thought tomorrow's sun would rise?

The sparks by the end of the drive...

He holds his breath as the present unfolds. He has taken cover and is braced for impact. The last thing he wanted was to grab this much attention. If feels almost like exhibitionism. Something for everyone to finally talk about. He would rather be seen more for his accomplishments, yet as of late those seem sparse and far in-between. He would rather he was looked at for his elegance, for not being just another boy seeking attention. Yet his recent actions have resulted in everything quite the opposite. Like a lion in a cage in a zoo, he is taunted, knowing full well he is at the mercy of their humility. Of their humanity. And that is quite a gamble indeed.

Life is similar to a bus ride. The journey begins when we board the bus. We meet people along our way of which some are strangers, some friends and some strangers yet to be friends. There are stops at intervals and people board in. At times some of these people make their presence felt, leave an impact through their grace and beauty on us fellow passengers while on other occasions they remain indifferent. But then it is important for some people to make an exit, to get down and walk the paths they were destined to because if people always made an entrance and never left either for the better or worse, then we would feel suffocated and confused like those people in the bus, the purpose of the journey would lose its essence and the journey altogether would neither be worthwhile nor smooth.

Sometimes I'm going to have to lose...

This is a mistake. Surely. I rushed in again head first ignoring all the signs. Skipping steps and not being patient enough. I will be punished for this. The universe shall stop me in my tracks and put me back in my place. I can already imagine my day of reckoning. How bitter it will feel, and how tungs will flap in excitement. There is no other way around it, for it has been foretold. I have been here before, plenty of times to remember the omens and feelings that harbour the doom to come. I knew the ending of this story before I did what I did, which begs the question, why didn't I stop? I'm a glutton for punishment, and I thrive on borderline decisions and circumstances. Chaos is a ladder after-all ... and boy do I like to climb.

His lust for life...

In these stolen moments,

the world is mine.

There's nobody here, 

just us together,

because we're the masters of our own fate.

We're the captains of our own souls.

There's no way for us to come away,

because boy we're gold.

His golden bowl...

I am caught in a storm of my own thoughts. What is the correct way of behaving? Which thoughts will lead me to enlightenment? Is there a path forward that involves more laughter? More happiness? More peace? Have the choices I've made been adequate? In line with what she taught me? Am I giving too much importance to unimportant things? Did I somehow lose sight of my true purpose? Perhaps hiding wasn't the most prudent decision ... but for it to cause such a ripple effect of unfortunate events ... I would have never imagined. Maybe that is my downfall. A lack of imagination. I used to think there was nothing I wasn't willing to do, yet for the life of me, I cannot envision the unravelling of my Gordian knot. A standstill like any other. A face-off between what is, and what ought to be.

No time to die...

Moving through the crowds...

A war in my mind...

I feel like such a loser. It seems that every recent endeavor I set upon leads me down a path of disappointment and failure. The worst part is that I'm not really sure what I'm doing wrong. I'm following the same formula that has led me to countless victories in the past. Why is it so vastly different this time? Why does each step feel like backtracking and why does my body ache all over? Something is wrong. I feel sad again, and I can't explain why. 

Every winner is inclined to think he will be triumphant forever. Every loser tends to fear that he is going to be beaten forever. But both are wrong for the same reason; everything changes except the face of the universe. But failure generates its own majesty. Defeat becomes a panoptic stain on the soul; it creates its own all-embracing pathos. Reverses engulf us in fleshy feelings of self-pity, sorrow, and apathy. Resounding setbacks might even be subtlety attractive because it means we can give up trying. It is tempting to accept defeat, surrender to our insecurities, and admit that because of failing to accomplish one particular goal that the best part of our life was wasted. Cynically writing ourselves off as a failure, we are free to capitulate to the emptiness of our lives. Such a peaceful thought that is.