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Life sometimes functions like a waterfall flowing backwards into the sky. It seems to take away everything from you no matter the efforts you put into stopping it. Thing is, most of the fault is ours. Truth is, we"re dying. Both a natural and a spiritual death. Our carelessness of youth is melting and now we are slowly becoming what we have for years feared: our parents. Slow, damp, hideous and pitiful creatures uncapable of the tiniest display of affection. It might not be your case, and I pray to whatever god will hear that itll never be but I think Im slipping into that direction. I try to fight of course but I"m just driftwood swept away by the flood.
But you see, I suppose this is what being an adult means. To be always sceptic, always unhappy and critical of others.
I remember my dreams as a child, I wanted a cat and a nice home whose door Id open only to whom I want. I wanted a girl for whom to cook and whose hand to hold. Now here I am, filling notebooks with words that ring hollow as the cavity within my chest while I desperately wander the earth. Sometimes this self imposed exile from the world fells almost physical, like having a rock on your chest, sometimes you can actually feel yourself breathing slower and slower.

So we ran. We kept running from a place to another. And what do we have to show for it? Some memories, some photos. Maps of the places we ve been to, tattooed on our faces, that can be seen as rarerly as we smile. We wandered around boutiques looking for things we could never buy. I thought nature heals the soul. I thought that at least the sea or the oceans would help in some way. But everything is temporary. You feel good for a while and then you get back to being yourself. Its like this desperation has its own immune system, letting you feel good for a while, before crushing you back into sullen sadness.

And then theres another thing. As I told you before I sometimes get the feeling that we are starved for affection but dont know how to receive it from the few people willing to share some with us. The world feds us an alternative to reality. An over romanticized life where people take leaps of faith, and are capable of inhuman sacrifices for us. And we want that. We yearn for it. So we strive to be those people in movies, or find them and force them into our life. But these are just sand-like  illusions. In order to be happy you have to lack a sudden amount of intelligence or to have low standards. And sometimes it feels that we"ve gone too far overboard. That we ve become something that has to rationalize everything instead of feeling it and judging it by intuition.

I am tired in all honesty. Of lieing, of running, of never really fitting in, wherever I go. Im tired of giving advice while my own life is a goddamn wreck. Of switching languages and clothes and faces in order to lose trace of a "me" that I no longer like or recognize. I feel like the contours of my personality sometimes blurr and I start to blend with the hungry misery of the world. im tired of writing about it while it doesnt really make much difference after all.

I sometimes dream of parties on the rooftops of the cities. Or deep within their stomachs. I dream of completely abandoning everything I know and settling down somewhere to adopt a child and forget about everything. And be forgotten. And it frustrates me beyond words that I cant do that. Not yet. So what is there to do?

Nothing really. I suspect that we are at an age where safety and silence are denied to us. We are at that point in life where we just have to go through it all. Like the survivors of an eathquake, pushing through the rubble so that one day we can see the light again.
I think were connected somehow, you know. Like spiritual twins, trying to be decent people in a sinister environment. I feel a deep affection and it tears me into a million pieces that I cannot really protect you from the blows you have to suffer. But I do love you, and if you went crazy Id probably become an alcoholic after and all our struggle would be for nothing. I think we deserve to be an example for everyone we know. Stories that will in the end nurture envy and admiration. Not as they might do it now, simply because we get to travel. But as whole, for becoming everything we set out to be. Silent and tranquil, completely isolated of the diabolical madness of the world.
All in all, keep fighting. Its not about them seeing you defeated, its just you suffered too much until now to not win in the end.