I am re-writing my life,
I used to believe I was the great unselfish savior everyone was looking for,
But as I got older,
I can no longer carry the weight of this monochromic world on these aching shoulders,
I take off my simple and obviously cheap costume,
As for now,
I am trying to save whatever is left of me.
I desire very little,
But the things I do consume me.
Sometimes you expect too much from someone because you'd do that much for them,
And it backfires on you,
Running around in circles,
Headless chicken,
In constant search for non-achievable goals,
We let ourselves down before we let anyone else,
And we do this over and over,
Until our fragile minds can no longer process,
And we fall to the ground,
Fatigued,
Hopeless,
Broken to the core.
As of today,
We're just little souls carrying around our corpses in this twisty maze called life.
That's the thing with words;
Books are easily destroyed but words will live as long as people can remember them.
And with those many articulate words, I am going to proceed to further explain this extravagant complexity of peoples' connections.
I will leave an imprint on your heart that anyone you entertain after me will have to know me to understand you,
But I am not special.
I am not a hero anymore.
I have nothing to prove anymore.
I sometimes just wish we could put down our rose-colored sunglasses and look into the true colors of this allegedly astonishing life.
You were so good at seeing people, I wish you could see yourself clearly.
But I can not remember anymore,
I am an amnesiac.
Every time I remember you,
I alter you.
I want to remember the beautiful painting I drew of you in my head rather than the real you.
Another painting going on the blank high walls of the prison of memories,
Cautiously placed.
Preserved.
Permanent.
I will use words to my favor,
But I can not speak about it.
And To burn inside with passionate desire, and not to speak of it, is the most atrocious punishment we can inflict on ourselves.
I am an amnesiac.
I forget when it matters most to remember.
I forgot that I let myself, let you, let everyone down.
I forgot that I care for everyone's happiness, but forget about my own.
I am not a hero.
I can not be one anymore.
I can never find my way out of this maze, and neither can I guide anyone out of it.
I have lost my sensorial powers.
But let us take a break,
It is better that we do not talk about our pains now,
Let us gaze at the sky in silence.
Maybe this glorious full moon can change the way we handle our pain.
Maybe if I think hard enough I can change how I deal with this.
Ifs and Maybes,
No absolutes.
I looked at words as if I was seeing them for the first time.
Perhaps there was a different meaning hiding between the lines,
Maybe I missed something.
Maybe life is all the wonderful things that may happen if you break the ropes that are holding you.
Or is it the other way around?
We believed in magic.
As an answer to all our problems.
We believed in planets, moons, and suns and however they move,
As an explanation of how powerless we became.
Dancing to our own rhythm through this mundane life.
Holding hands as we believed.
We believed in anything that made enough sense for us to believe.
Entangled words.
Twisted ideas.
Common religion.
Magic.
No power was strong enough as we were hypnotized to hold on.
Even if letting go always made more sense.
We were superheroes in this story.
Fighting against everything until we emerge victorious.
But maybe destroying things is just who we are.
In order for us to prevail, we damaged.
A different kind of superhero.
We were never going to take a momentary loss.
But the loss we took was irreparable.
Turn away.
Maybe I am too obsessed to find someone to love because I can't love myself,
Maybe all my colors just do not mix well.
And all those pieces of me do not glue together as they are supposed to.
Maybe I am broken.
I think I will never find eternal happiness,
As long as your memory burns in me like an infinite sun of love.
Provided that I am in this endless passive cycle of self-blame.
I am not trying to change.I can't change it.
I became this.
Maybe my passion is nothing special.
Perhaps I am still looking around for it.
But today,
I am re-writing my life.
And If you hate my story,
I am sorry it was not written for you.
