Dear you,
There are days when I do not know what exactly to write you, but I still have intentions to write because I would never stop. There are days when I do not know why I do anything in this life, and days when I just do not think it deep enough. There are moments in which I stare at walls, ceilings, or vacuum and ask myself a minute later: what was I really thinking about? And it turns out to be nothing. Sometimes it feels like I just want to shut the whole world out for a few moments, instead of it shutting me out for every single day of my life. And then I try to detach just for a speck of a second before I come back. I come back slowly, but steadily, and with so much blurriness and fogginess until I do my own daily reality checks, to know I am still not dreaming.
There are days in which I feel the urge to write some world-changing lines, some inspirational ideas that would come to life one day, without my own credit, but that doesn't matter, so long as it changes something. And there are other days in which I only hope to be myself and not change anything, and that would be enough for everyone around me. In a voraciously fake world, sometimes that is all that people want really.
There are times when I get tired of being around people who know me, who know me really well, so let alone people who do not know me at all. I isolate myself, like a loner, except I am not (just a state, not a noun). I enjoy it for only a couple of weeks maybe, and then I come back to the boring social person that I am again. I feel like we're ghosts wearing human bodies; we struggle so much to be who we are, and yet again we never even understand who we are and why we do the things we do.
Sometimes we even see ourselves as infinitesimal beings in an infinite universe, but we have such inflated egos that we never admit this.
So talk to me about vacuum, about space, about galaxies and other worlds, parallel universes. Talk to me about shooting stars, comets, meteors, and orbits. Talk to me about infinity, so we never run out of words, ever.
Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.
There are days when I do not know what exactly to write you, but I still have intentions to write because I would never stop. There are days when I do not know why I do anything in this life, and days when I just do not think it deep enough. There are moments in which I stare at walls, ceilings, or vacuum and ask myself a minute later: what was I really thinking about? And it turns out to be nothing. Sometimes it feels like I just want to shut the whole world out for a few moments, instead of it shutting me out for every single day of my life. And then I try to detach just for a speck of a second before I come back. I come back slowly, but steadily, and with so much blurriness and fogginess until I do my own daily reality checks, to know I am still not dreaming.
There are days in which I feel the urge to write some world-changing lines, some inspirational ideas that would come to life one day, without my own credit, but that doesn't matter, so long as it changes something. And there are other days in which I only hope to be myself and not change anything, and that would be enough for everyone around me. In a voraciously fake world, sometimes that is all that people want really.
There are times when I get tired of being around people who know me, who know me really well, so let alone people who do not know me at all. I isolate myself, like a loner, except I am not (just a state, not a noun). I enjoy it for only a couple of weeks maybe, and then I come back to the boring social person that I am again. I feel like we're ghosts wearing human bodies; we struggle so much to be who we are, and yet again we never even understand who we are and why we do the things we do.
Sometimes we even see ourselves as infinitesimal beings in an infinite universe, but we have such inflated egos that we never admit this.
So talk to me about vacuum, about space, about galaxies and other worlds, parallel universes. Talk to me about shooting stars, comets, meteors, and orbits. Talk to me about infinity, so we never run out of words, ever.
Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.
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