Deep down, I know…
I’m nothing special. Someone tells me I’m good, for someone I’ll be a monster,
but I’m nothing special. I’m a normal person, and I think my problems are things that “only happen to me”,
but I am one among many.
Nothing special, indeed.
I never know where this life goes,
I’m wrong, I know I’m wrong, then I leave these things alone, then I forget to write, then I don’t feel like it, I don’t believe it anymore, I don’t give a damn anymore about how I die, and not even how I live.
Sometimes I don’t want anything, not even the things I wanted more than anything, I don’t want time to stop, I don’t want to go back, to fix my mistakes.
When you’ve gone too far, you won’t know what to do when you go back, right? You’re done now, what do you have to do back? Now there are other choices,
for us, who don’t want to live in the past.
What am I supposed to say to her now? If not simply: “I’m sorry, I made a mistake”.
She ends here, ends there, let’s forget, come on.
I won’t forget, you will remember me as someone who only hurt you.
And like me other people, in a world and humanity so vast, with things that move, so fast, sometimes, that time has passed without even you being able to notice it.
And now the things that pass come and take you, they take you away from the present, they take you away from the past in which you get stuck, sooner or later… sooner or later.
And the idea that one day we will fly becomes more and more concrete.
And where will I disappear? Where will we disappear?
I wonder if I will ever be able to publish a book,
I wonder if anyone will ever read me as I would like?
Who knows, boh.
I would just like to let myself be dragged by some other sea, forget the life of now, and make another one, just like many, just like too many.
Me, nothing special.
Hoping that someone will come back, wanting to leave, wanting to live…
And then let me know,
what will you end up with.
And I, I will disappear.