2nd 478900 03-01-2020

 I sometimes wonder about the connections between myself and life in a despicable way, I love living. I hate life, I love my life. I have how they live, I hate the way my dream is forbidden in a dumb way, but it's never late, but it's also already happening right now, you know. Life.

I don't know what is in my head that doesn't want to rush, that just wants to stop the world and create, play the music and run the samples, scream the hatred of a silhouette that my heart implores, thread and needle on hand make myself clothing that I will be able to use, only I. 

It feels dumb having the heart of a lover in the mind of a pragmatic seer in the body of a worker, the social consciousness is as real as every single day, but I strike positiveness, I have to wait 2 hours for my bus, but I can use that time to read, to walk around, to be one way or another active. I have to balance 16 hours everyday between work and school, but I withheld from an odd sleep regime the ability to sleep anywhere anyhow for any time. 

It feels like I am not truly me in these moments where I only have to sit and let the dreams take me away. 

I don't want to do most things, I still don't know why I leave, I will buy myself a home, I will hold my wife, I will carry my son, I will give them the very best. I will be without sense of me, I don't understand it. I hate it.

I am unable of doing something for my pleasure, it feels, like insubordination to a kin higher in the planes of existence. I am quick to respond, as the wish comes I am seeing it done. I don't understand it, it's just hateful, friends will ask me for a question and I will make the exam again for them to understand the process. But I won't study for any exam. I am doomed to hate myself. I love the certainty of my life, but I also am truly uncertain about if I will live through. Sometimes I fantasize about it being in front of someone, shocking them, making them feel it in their bones, drenching in the blood who scalds their cold skin, I wish to do it in the snow, to leave a splatter and for it to be photographed by artists who would be down to it to exist. Who wants a body to embalm? I have one I don't use and I don't want to throw it away.

Every night more awake in my dreams, every day much tighter than the other, I am scared of dreaming with her. She is totally beautiful in the most absurd of ways, but the girl of my dreams, she has a chokehold on me. If she ever came to be real again, I'd cry out loud the spoilt passion that runs through the fire that smolders my every step. I made the terrible mistake of knowing who this person was once, and now I can't sleep at night because I dream with her and my heart can't afford it, my eyes would cry and my soul would sink again, how is this possible, how can one person have so much power over me, if she ever reads me, finds me, it's you who I am talking about. 

It has to do with me? Or is it, was it mutual, or was it not consensual the decision to break our world in two, I left her hanging and now I am finally sitting down and thinking about this great melancholic sorrow that invades the silence at the high hours of the moon, the shadows spell your name, the pillows adhere your fragrance, the air without you feels so dull and the colors seems to lose their expressions. I'm sorry it's me again, I'm sorry it's me again the one who minds you, I'm so deeply sorry I can't just leave it be any longer, 3 years is not enough to repay, my lifetime would be of no use, but my eternities in your despisedom and your image in my image will forever leave, I'm eternally sorry to dedicate you letters you will never read, even if you could. 

I'm sorry my late response was just right where damocles were. I'm sorry.