I don’t consider myself a good person, I am a sinner that preaches or a saint that sins, I am filled with rage and paradoxical concepts from my past, or the future I created through my past, I consider myself the grey area, where everything is possible as it is improbable, yet I am trying my utmost to become a decent human, to grow older to become a loving father to my little Lina that came to me in my dreams less often than I would’ve adored, I am a marshmallow disguised as a stone according to my good mate, I write a lot for it is my only release, for it is my feeble attempt at artistry.
I fall in love and wallow in rejection every second of the day, I fall in love with the material and the shapeless, I fall in love with everything that exists and everything long forgotten, the streets, dark and damped, the alleys wide and narrow, the mountains piercing the skies, the seas embracing the shores after the longest of travels, the faces people wear.
I fall in love with the words I discover every day, words written on clouds of my imagination, words spoken by ancients of past times, words engraved in the hearts of those I love and those I loathe. I use big, complex wording because I can, because I love how I can twist, turn, change and alter the words to mean desperately different concepts
I absolutely believe in what I do presently with my existence for through it I retried my long lost purpose to continue existing, I want to love, eat, drink, lay with wolves and lambs of humans, die and be remembered for whatever good I create in this vast, endless and ever expanding universe.
I appreciate the existence of every companion I choose and every friend or fiend that chooses me, often I claim despising humans, including myself, until I realize the Why of mine. I would die any day if it meant salvation, if it meant absolution from my thoughts and demons that I’ve come to embrace.
I am a man of many masks, mastered until perfection, worn until confusion, my confusion, masks I created long ago to defend me against foes that do not exist, against masks other humans created to betray my wasted trust or sway my heated affection, but in the end I happen to always trust again and fall in love again with humans for the marvels they are capable of, for the emotions they keep emitting into the world and for the good they’ve forgotten to do.
I feel old most of the time, maybe because I never truly felt young? maybe because my soul is weary and full of terrors? It does not matter, I exist therefore I am, I can and I will. I appreciate dark comedy for I see it every time I stare in the mirror which makes me a cynical bastard most of the time.
My name is meaningless for names are indeed dying methods and I absolutely love you for reading this, fellow human.
You’ll see in yourself what you’ve always been looking for in other people, this is my attempt, success or failure, it does not matter, all that matters is that now I can see.