Till death does its p.art

   Nu am pretentii. Nu am mai scris de mult. Multe s-au intamplat in ultima vreme. Deschid browserul, blogspot.com. Nimic nou. 12k total views in some crooked times.New Post, new title, drop 3 rows, make 3 spaces. Am stat nitel pe loc. Gandurile urla atunci cand stai pe loc. Idei peste idei, imagini, sentimente si universuri paralele. What if? Lately I've been dreaming. After a long period of time where my sleep would only be interrupted by a catastrophic event, my brain finally got the courage to dream. An old recursive dream erupted with the power of all your childhood memories at once. It's a simple dream, I dream colors. Just plain vivid colors that cover my eyesight. It's a start, you know? I hear people talking about their awkward dreams of actions and people and feelings and sweat and frantic eye movement.All I got was a screen test running right in front of my mind while my thoughts traveled to simpler times. It was shocking.I could see two things at a time.They where all there, smiling and laughing. It's quite hard right now to decide if the dream is currently continuing as I type or it was there, waiting for me to remember it. Some things cannot be repaired. Some things disappear. I'd wish I could just go back. Forget all the stuff that happened and simply go back. I have an uncanny feeling of emptiness. As my social interactions grow cold, I realize how much has been taken away from me at the exact moment in time when I would of needed it the most. The saddest moment I had was the one where people would start to ignore me. Even worse, people would start to hate me. People I appreciated. People I cared about, in my stupid manner. Life starts out simple. And it carries on for a while with that impression. But then again, life is a cruel murderer. The more you wish for something to be real,the faster it gets stabbed right in front of your soul. I could go on with how our society does nothing more than complement life's deadly habits, but that's a thing all of us get to understand sooner or later. What have I become? I started a few things in my life, but few had continuity. And I feel like I murdered the brain's newborn with a deadly accuracy every time I would just give up. Dust can be smothered with some cloth, but the state of existence is the same! So why do I get ideas that want to burst out of my head when all I can do is watch time pass me by as I end up realizing I can't do nothing alone? Why torture me with things of mesmerizing qualities and possibilities when in the end, it all ends the same: like a book in a crowded dusty bookshelf?
   Sure, I could try to encourage myself, I could try to find people that go through the same never ending feeling. I could try to repair what can still be repaired, I need my hope back. I need my friends back. But everyone goes away, in the end. And if you know me, you stay the hell away from me! It's hard to carry a burden nobody seems willing to understand. It's quite sad to see stupid reasons tearing holes. Humans are indeed the worst drug of all times. Everyone I know seems to know me. Everybody seems to treat me like some sort of murder case to witch they already saw the ending. To some, I am the person with a what-the-fuck-ever attitude. To some, I am a lazy intelligent being. To some, I am the most dreadful person casting shadow to this earth. But I don't find myself inside those lines.
   I am a twisted little being. I adore the feeling you get when you realize it was all a dream. Turn back.