When I was around sixteen I always wished my life had some kind of tragedy. Society and the medias in general give us this idea that the best artists are the most fucked up. So if I wanted to be good I had to be as fucked up as any of the best ones.
I never thought my wish would come true and I never thought it would hurt this much. The truth is we don’t know anything about anything when we are sixteen, we’re blank canvas. I was the stupidest teenager ever. Now that tragedy hit my life like a fucking lightning strike all I want is to go back to my easy and happy life. I’d rather be depressed because I can’t have everything I want or because I’m not satisfied with my work than be depressed because I’ve lost something I’ll never be able to have back.
Of course I am not the person who’s suffering the most in this situation and everybody comes and tells me that I have to be strong, and I know I will. But once everyone is gone and I’m alone in the dark all I think about is going back.
I just adjusted my life and now nothing will ever be the same. There are things that happend, sad things, and they just take the taste out of food, they take the joy out of music, they take the poetry out of words, they take the smiles out of your face. And then you just got to hold on, you hold onto the little things, most of them memories or simple pleasures.
Tired of loosing, you just find strength where you never thought you could find it. You slowly re-set your goals according to the people you love, you just want to make them proud and happy.
Someone said the other day that our lives are just a very small part of our eternity, then I say: let’s make it count anyways. I want to make it count for those who always believed in me, I want to make it count for all I received and didn’t got the time to give back.
I want to be an anchor, strong, drowning to make sure the boat is steady, but for now I just ask to be weightless and just go with the waves drifting for a while, because that is a fact: I’m exhausted.