I hope, that your story isn't my story. I hope that in your book of sad people running away, I don't see myself portrayed, please don't ever write again. Those lines they just seem to trace the roads that I've walked, and no they don't, they never run out of ink, so the pain keeps on being spilled in the paper, in my flesh, in the paper, in my flesh. It's a vicious circle and I can't get away, but I need to run away. Please stop writing, please stop telling me I'm dead. 

It's like putting rewind on your own mistakes, and pressing play over and over again. It's like scratching the wound so the mark is deeper. I keep fucking up everything I touch.

Fix me.

If there's ever a road to peace, I'd like to take that one, I'd like to believe that there are better things ahead than any we leave behind. I'd like to think, that you and I will find the way to leave aside all this pain we build inside. I'd like to believe that you will love me back and not because I say yes to your requests but because I am purely myself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=5n19hMu4yW0

Nothing really matters, none of the stuff you care about, matters to us. It's funny, because most of us, or all of us are deeply wounded in our cores, we live on mountains of shattered dreams, superficial trash, restless bygones that torment us so they never really become bygones, and all because of you, because of the walls you used to strain us, because of the fancy visions you painted for each of us, because of all the shit you forced us to want just like you. It's funny cause we became your opposites. Probably after listening so much crap, so much fairytales and fantasies, we decided we didn't want to be wannabes of the grey monstrous jungle, we wanted to be individual, original, genuine, but most of the times we found ourselves limited by the love we had for you, and there's nothing we could do to save ourselves from the missinterpreted paths that this kind of life forces us to take. Aside of the future you made for me, aside of all the guilt you made me believe was mine, aside of all the silences I had force so I wouldn't hurt you, never in my life will I forgive you for what you've done today. You can care about fruits and vegetables, cars and gold, you can do whatever you want with my life, but I'm never forgiving you for today. The difference with you chosing my future before  and now is that yesterday I had accepted and I was willing to smile at life, now I'm just in a state of constant rage until I run away.

Endings are never really endings

And now, as I take my baggage down the new road, I think of the new rules that will help me in this journey; first of all, to hold no grudge of the past, of any mistakes, of what I believed unfair, of the falls or the dissapointments; also to smile, as many times as possible; to say yes to new opportunities and most important to try my best to achieve them all; to learn from the people I admire the most, the ones I love for everything they do; to hold on to all those strings that made me happy, that made me strong; to share this journey with each person that I cherish; to take a picture of each moment I wish to treasure, even if they are simply on my mind, I shall never let them slip away; to laugh; to hope; o dance; to be the person I always wanted to be and not the person that is taken over by hatred, by remorse, by misery; to enjoy music as much as possible and maybe even create some; to never let go of art and try to make it have a major role in my life; to enjoy nature and each of its miracles; to love you endurably and to be able to show it, without shame, without doubt; to always inspire and encourage; to make people happy and to be happy and even if I stumble upon hate, pain, resentment, I shall fight it off my life and breathe, always breathe.

Silence

I feel as if you're fading
with the long goodbyes that slip with the wind that skims the music around
I feel as if you're waving and each time you take a step back
until you're just a small shadow in the distance
And still I come home wishing to see your horse at the front door
But there's nobody there, only the leaves that I crash so I don't have to hear
So I don't have to hear that you`re not here
Still, I wake up and take my endless hair out the window
So you can use it as a rope
A rope to come back home, 'cause I know this is where you belong
But I stand there waiting with the tiny tiny hope that the touch I feel is not the air saying you're alone, you're alone, I wait and wait and count the stars so time passes by until you reach back, but never have the starts seemed so infinite
Momma says I always saw the sky dark because I had enough light in my life, because I did not need the starts to guide me, and that now I see them all clear because I'm lost without you here, without you here says the silence and it won't stop, it just won't stop.

"You once told me, our fingerprints don't fade from the lives we touch. Is that true for everybody, or is it just poetic bullshit?"

"Whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it's very important that you do it. Because nobody else will. Like when someone comes into your life and half of you says you're nowhere near ready, but the other half says: make her yours forever."

"It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure in the world."

.-Joh Steinbeck