I didn’t realise that I was in chains. For some masochistic reasons, it almost feels like I wanted it as if I had nothing better to pursue.
From now on, self-neglect will be my greatest sin (and cowardice). The truth is that I’m exhausted. The core of my body and conscience are still digesting, although I’d prefer to stick my finger down my throat, but–that would be cowardice.
Last night I smoked like a chimney, my head was fuming, but I had a good laugh while walking in the cold of the night.
I see a lot of flashbacks, but they aren’t real.
“Love letters in the sand–I remember you”–but fuck me, it’s all irrelevant, and yet, the past is always just one single step behind me. Perhaps, it’s watching me. I no longer blame it for doing so because all it wants is me coming to terms with it. If there is anything, ANYONE who has done me wrong, the past will always open up all nasty cards. When done, I let go and move on. I see the past as a warden, nothing more.
I try to fill a void.
I’m sad.
I sleep better, though, and I remember certain dreams again, but not fully. Last night I dreamed I was back at university where I was attending a workshop. There were many strangers. In my present, everyone seems to be a stranger, strangers attempting to estrange me from me. I look at everyone and get a sense of alienation.
I realise that we’re alone with too much fear. I’m scared, too. I never wanted to be, though, so I decided to put the shoes back on and continue the road trip.
I won’t ever come as long as I am not in love. I should have told the truth from the beginning. But why would you tell truths to strangers?
