I really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear?

I used to live in a house, with walls and seilings and photos hanged around, I knew the way around and nothing surprised me cause it was my place. Many times I made the stupid mistake of complaining about the sense of confinement, I thought I needed to breathe new air, I thought it was stopping me from living the life that was meant for me but I never stood up for it, I never tried much. However, growth comes with an ounce of courage, and it hits you all of a sudden, it knocks you down, so you bounce inmeditaely, you just act, using this courage foolishly, rapidly, mindlessly. That day, the day that it hit me, I ran out, I flew away by the window and just ran, catching every opportunity I had to make something different, something I had not been able to do at that house, but I knew not that I could never go back home, knowing not that thas was my home. For a moment, I enjoyed the freshness of this new life, but in a few minutes it faded away with much more than my excitement. It took away my clothes, my face, my hands, I was nude out it the woods, with no walls or seilings, nothing gave me shape. There were no directions, so I kept on running in circles, finding myself stepping on the same stupid rock. There was no you, or her, or him. There was no one around, and I was mad because I thought you were not present, I was mad cause I thought I've done all for nothing, but at last I had done what would make me lose everything. When I tried going back home, I saw a house torn apart, I threw stones at it and burned it to the ground, the place in which I lived all my life, the house that gave me a name, a life, the ones that made me who I am, who I was, who I used to be. Who am I now?