to be very honest i was going to talk about my dear friend's travels abroad--he told me stories that for the first time amongst the flock and flock of people who go away and return eventually that actually mattered. you know stories that could change a person's outlook on things. stories that make you wanna go ahead and make your own stories. for they were filled with lonesome travels among strangers through little corners of perishing lands. a true rupture in the ordinary way of things.
then life caught up with me. to dream is tricky business, you should be very careful. the masks we put on each day ultimately begin to deceive us ourselves more than anything else. we believe in the possibilities of different lives of different people of different adventures. truth is i have a broken wing. i always had a broken wing. one of my teachers once said "not every problem can be solved. that's why you should learn how to contain them" and that's what life truely is--a large sequence of containment and maintenance of true troubles so that they don't hinder the daily doings. it sounds fake now, and childish. but i wish i could truly explain the pain in my chest. the wise silent misery that i show to no one that resides right here quite threateningly. of all the things i learnt to contain, that i learnt to protect. for the things you love is not at all what you aim to protect in life it is your pain you hold on dearly to. you don't want others to see it.
you make postcards out of beautiful scenery. that is all there is. you forget once in a while, you go out, you taste and drink and you fall (or pretend to fall) in love. then life comes around, and you remember all the containment, all the maintenance, and the child inside you frowns. but then you have to put your hand on his/her shoulder and sigh and sigh wisely and explain him/her that it will not change any time soon.
it's time she/he grows up.
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