I think I try to cut too many ropes at a time and find myself pending in the air, not having anything to hold on to, waiting to hit the ground. I’m strong, I fly but sometimes I fall, and then I fail miserably. Too many times I gave my love and care to people that neither wanted nor needed it while I was depriving of it kind souls that were only longing for one gesture of kindness. But now I stop. I rearrange. And I hope this time I’ll come up with a different order, less chaotic than the one dictated up until now by my struggling mind.

Too many times I had my tears wiped away, too many days I had arms wrapped around me, it’s time to deal with this myself. No one should ever be alone, but I try nonetheless.

I feel I have nothing new to offer to this world. Everything I write has already been read, everything I feel has already been felt, everything I think has already been thought, everything I love has already vanished, everything I live has already been consumed. I wish I could just see a new world in front of my eyes, to step in it and then live what real poets only speak of. To create emotions that exalt the spirit like nothing else has ever did, to simulate moments that will last a planet.