Love

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Love is such a strange word. It’s really weird that such a small word describes such a fundamental feeling. I’ve been living for quite a while now but never in my life have I heard one accurate description of this feeling. Of course some people may have found their definition for this word, maybe the definition of love lays in a person, in a feeling and that is the reason why some of us don’t seem to find it in phrases.

I’ve always wondered why is love such a popular feeling. So many books, so many songs, drawings, it’s so widespread. I wonder if love is really the most fundamental thing in life, the ultimate definition of perfection, the collective goal of humanity, or we just make it like this.

I wonder if we make love important or love makes us important.

But love comes in different forms and we all express love differently. I won’t repeat the “there are billions kinds of love” theory because I think we all heard about it. We can love a friend, a mother, a lover, it’s not important who we love but how.

I am getting gradually but surely sick of love. We all wake up looking, searching for love, to give it, to receive it, and sometimes you are satisfied with it but sometimes you are not. Sometimes you wish you could love other people and sometimes you wish you’ll never love anybody else as much as you love someone in particular. Why do we keep searching for it? We keep searching for a person or a feeling that can influence who we are and who we worked hard to become. We keep looking for somebody who can either destroy us or elevate us. But why can’t we accept the state of life that we create for us. Why are we looking for someone who can bring chaos in our life? Is stability boring? Or maybe -just maybe- we can’t help it?

Maybe our hearts just create invisible connections and when we are apart from those whom we love the strings that keep our hearts together are getting weaker and cause us pain. Maybe when we fight they get tangled. Maybe there is an entire story happening in an unseen world involving our hearts and we can just feel and act on it.

Maybe -just maybe- love is controlling us and we never stood a chance.

Start

I’ve been meaning to start this blog for a while. Of course I made my first post a while ago, but it doesn’t really feel like I started. I keep on waiting. I’m waiting for the perfect moment. I feel like I am waiting to live , to breath, just waiting on something that will give my life meaning. I can not tell exactly why is that. I guess I feel unworthy. I just don’t allow myself to believe that I can live such an imperfect life and still be happy. And the truth is that it’s been a while, it’s been a while since I last felt truly happy and genuinely blessed for being who I am. I fool myself into thinking I do my best to change but the truth is I am not. I am terrified that even if I try I won’t succeed. There are some days when I feel really motivated, but it just fades down. This time … I will really try. I will change my life. I will make it to the top. Because I am worthy, we all are. We just need a pinch of craziness and motivation. I’ve decided to start writing because that is what I want to do. This gives me the sense of purpose I need. And my words may not mean the world to most of you, but they are my world.

I am sad.

Once again I am sad. There are no days sadder than those when you say her name. Maybe you were just telling a story, a joke perhaps, giving me an example… but it hurts. It hurts knowing you think about her, that something I’ve said makes your brain wonder until you reach the destination of her face. It hurts that you see no difference between us. It hurts knowing that I am the same as her, mediocritize me. Sometimes I feel the need to scream “I AM MORE” because what always drew me into you was the fact that you are more for me, and I just wanna be what you are for me because i know how that feels. There are so many words I feel the need to say, when I talk about you, but what sums it all up is.. you are “something more”. I do not know what is exactly what makes me always come running back to you anytime something goes wrong, but you are THAT for me and it hurts knowing I am just “that” for you.And what hurts the most? It hurts thinking that someday we will not be what we are now, as little as I have with you… this is all I have. This right here with you, this is real and it feels right, it feels amazing, just talking, just joking, just being with you is an experience I want to keep forever within my soul and mind. I am sad because I know I can always find someone else, but will I ever find something else? I can always be in search for a person but after you, I will be in search of a soul, a feeling. I am sad because after you, I know, I am not in search for someone else, I am in search for you in someone else. I am sad because I am scared you will not search for me more than you already did.

Small town

Real talk.

Small town filled with shadows of so-called “people”, small kids with big dreams and no knowledge about the world they live in, and minds too overwhelmed with the sadness of reality…or is it just one mind?
Expressivity is the on thing we need most and the one we always avoid, even ban or laugh at those who dare to express something more than what is essential. You would think living in a town full of simplistic people and being surrounded by less than basic people will provide you the perfect environment for a minimalistic person in terms of thinking and living. And it most certainly did. Everybody is preoccupied with their own “goals”, ideals filled with nothing more than already established realities and material means. There is no place left for emotional intelligence, for liberty of expression in any kind of form, no place to discover who you actually are, not just who you should be.
This seems like a horror story the more I think about it, but you know what is really horrific? The fact that this is a reality, and while the term “reality” seems to validate a truth and generalize it, this reality is just for the few of us who have been cursed to live in small towns. The place where dreams die.