Given to Fly.

Defeat is never easy. Especially if you survive it. If you're forced to get up and move on. And I moved alright. All of my life I have been moving.
Depression does not make me inert. It makes me light. And light things often have the tendency of being carried by the wind.

I woke up one morning with a stomach full of whiskey and a bag full of clothes. Beneath me, the ocean hit the rocks like fists to a jaw. I remembered all the times I thought I was going to die. All those days engulfed by nothingness. It all seems like a stupid joke that nobody even got to hear. And I'm glad.
I'm glad I left. I'm glad I was the cynic this time. That I shook my head in the face of alluring promises. Now, in my cola stained blue jeans I am slowly getting born into a new world. One in which I'm not racing for some obscure purpose. One in which people laugh and ask if I'm American. A new world. An electrical world where blue velvet skies are shouting proud thunders like national anthems.
in this paradise, I am sold to the radio waves. To the magic of perfectly orchestrated names. My ten pence dreams dismantle and disappear into thin air like cobwebs on fire. I am slowly forgetting the soft and sad dreams of summer. Of being in wrong places at the right time.
I left no more room to longing for the sea. Now I sit and watch the ocean and my mind flies across the Atlantic to a future. A good one. In warm weather and beautiful company. Where everything is new and strange in infinitely charming ways. And I will not be here forever either.