I have stopped writing, I have nothing to say. And what worries me more, I can not feel anything.
I have stopped writing as I had written about everything I could feel: I am only a broken record to me.
I have stopped writing because my best stories are my dreams and I never remember my dreams when I wake up. My dreams are full of action, of colorful people, of pain and joy. In my dreams I have the face of my friends. I tell my family what I don´t say when I am awake. I make love with beautiful strangers looking like the young good looking actor that entertained me that night. Sometimes I don´t want to wake up as I can play my dreams again and again and again. I love cuddling my pillow and feeling that the dreams are not surreal but have the shape of my pillow. I can touch my pillow.
Recently I watched About Time, a movie where the main character can turn back the time and change what went wrong. But the movie is politically correct, is positive thinking stream, and the hero in the end does not need any repetition – he just decides to live every day at its fullest…Carpe diem…here we are again…The Latins (or maybe the Greeks?) stated it for the first time, and 2000 years later we are still repeating it with no much success..perhaps we should ask why. I wanted my money back…
I agree with Kierkegaard and I want to turn back the time and live again all the days and weeks when I was suspended. All the days I was not ready to let them go, or I had no clue they were just passing without returning.
I want to turn back the time to my teens and I want to kiss all the guys I thought were cute. I want to run away from home and fly to London, get changed in a taxi and become Simon Le Bon´s groupie.
I want to be all my girlfriends that during their teens slept in the open sky smoking marijuana.
I did it all ..but late and I lost my teens in a library reading for all those years I would not.
I want my teens back without glasses, and with red lipstick. My Dior today is not enough.
I want to sleep again in the tub of a dirty flat in London. Smoke in the bedroom and feel that my clothes don´t smell. Walk the streets of London and feel I am the coolest. I want to take the tube and guess who shagged that morning. I want to turn back the time and kiss that guy that I did not kiss, when we stopped running.
I want to turn back the time and undo what I did. I think. I want to turn back the time and walk in the middle of the street and not on the side.
I guess I just don´t want to let time pass. Especially when I feel that so many emotions are still alive and screaming in me. I just kill them in the morning when I wake up.
The fucking problem is that emotions last only seconds and life is made of minutes, hours, days, years and new emotions with age became a rare gift.
I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I.
All the I´s that wish to say something but don´t know what.
Leave a comment