The feeling of losing my friends is driving me crazy. They were bright-colored petals, slowly and surely, they wilt and fall off from the flower that I never picked up no matter how pretty it was. Maybe I got too busy about something else, not noticing the life seeping out of their pores everyday, or maybe I idled for too long. Or maybe I waited too long, knowing so little about the fact that sometimes too much time between two things could result to distance and being drifted away. Not realizing that everything else in this world is unlike the sea and the shore, never apart and never will be.
My hopes are dreams are all packed in a suitcase. I stuffed them in that bag when I realized the beauty of traveling: It’s not all about being one with nature, not about being able to see with your own eyes what you saw in the pictures you found on facebook, not about setting foot on different places and thinking of it as a milestone, not about experiencing a whole new level of fun and adventure, not about having to taste the global and away with the local. But it’s about giving a space for the unknown. Nothing should top the excitement and horror laid in that abyss. You will never know if you will fly or float, jump or fall, climb or drop. Nobody knows what will happen. So bit by bit, I put my lot in that bag, untidy and damaged. Hoping that someday I’ll get to drag that old suitcase with me as I step onto that abyss. I don’t care where it would take me. As long as I have my suitcase with me, I know I’ll survive. Because along with dreams, there is hope.
You don’t find your soulmate;
you make someone your soulmate.
The fact that other people’s opinions influence my sober thoughts is proof that I have not lost myself. I am glad. But everything comes with a price –always. I listen, I doubt. I decide, I risk.
My head is loaded with words but I have nothing to say.