This piece of metal (image removed) is fragment of a massive explosion that landed on my room’s balcony in 2013. I was laying on my bed next to a wall-sized glass door. I always sat there and let my body get soaked in the subtle sunlight, as I watched the clouds moving in the sky in a swaying rythme. I would lay on my back and imagine as if gravity is reversed and the blue sky is my ground; a thought I was often amused by. I felt so lucky being able to watch the sky from my own bed and more clearly and vividly, from my balcony. The sky might’ve been at some point the most exciting thing in that lifeless town I called Home.
Continue reading “A fragment that failed its’ purpose”Tag: fear
Nostalgia &Fear
I was thinking of the unspoken crumbling pieces of memory that make me despise the fractions of moments of sleep when my mind rewinds bits of what once was, as I’m striving to let go of every single detail about who I used to be and how others judgement impacted the way I thought or felt, of friends criticizing my perspective in life and how I wanted to change completely and alter a seemingly endless chapter of a book I couldn’t accept as my reality. I promised myself that self-doubts won’t undermine me and I promised I will be as nice to myself as I am to others and allow myself to sincerely trust and not think about the imperfections that make me cave inside. I knew I couldn’t come across something intriguing without completely melting into it in the process of figuring myself out and it still scares me to get close but at times it’s a paradox of blurry visions and I don’t want to lose a friend that feels like the home I never found in a person cause none of them fulfilled the curiosity I had while I wore my heart out in conversations that teared my brain apart but were never SPOKEN cause the truth is a cloudy fog of uncertainty where I come from and I always ended up with shatters of satisfaction as I poured out sprinkles of infinite thoughts but never received wonder and it was momentary happiness that faded as fast as the shooting star I wished upon on the rooftop of my grandparents house that I can still smell whenever I close my eyes and remember my grandmother’s blue robe and why I refused to hug her one last time.