To the centre of the city where all roads meet, waiting for you.
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you.
I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you.
In a room without window in the corner I found truth.
I can never sit still. Always looking for attention. Always needing to be mentioned. Who do I think I am? There is never a moment where my mind isn't wandering, my thumbs are not twiddling, and my mouth is not speaking. I think too much. I act too much. I speak too much. I cannot stand when things become stagnant. Dormancy is for death. I like moving. There is always something new. New people. New places. New cultures. Do we even have homes, or are we just meant to roam? It's easier this way. It takes away my anxiety. I'd like to believe that somewhere I'll find someone who's going nowhere and we'll go there together. She will be modest, grey, and barely speak English. They always seem to be the best.
I have decided to start learning more languages. It is silly because I am still not even fluent in Spanish. But, I have vowed to myself that before I die, I will speak Greek, Euzkera, and Castellano. I will speak English of course too. Maybe I can just end up forgetting it. Am I having an identity crisis? I suppose. Tell me who I am. I want to start playing the violin.
Some book suggestions from me to you:
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Evasion
A Clockwork Orange
Walden
Deep Economy
Ghosts of Spain
Blood of Spain
Expect Resistance
Meanwhile, Take My Hand
Down and Out in Paris and London
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you.
I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you.
In a room without window in the corner I found truth.
I can never sit still. Always looking for attention. Always needing to be mentioned. Who do I think I am? There is never a moment where my mind isn't wandering, my thumbs are not twiddling, and my mouth is not speaking. I think too much. I act too much. I speak too much. I cannot stand when things become stagnant. Dormancy is for death. I like moving. There is always something new. New people. New places. New cultures. Do we even have homes, or are we just meant to roam? It's easier this way. It takes away my anxiety. I'd like to believe that somewhere I'll find someone who's going nowhere and we'll go there together. She will be modest, grey, and barely speak English. They always seem to be the best.
I have decided to start learning more languages. It is silly because I am still not even fluent in Spanish. But, I have vowed to myself that before I die, I will speak Greek, Euzkera, and Castellano. I will speak English of course too. Maybe I can just end up forgetting it. Am I having an identity crisis? I suppose. Tell me who I am. I want to start playing the violin.
Some book suggestions from me to you:
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Evasion
A Clockwork Orange
Walden
Deep Economy
Ghosts of Spain
Blood of Spain
Expect Resistance
Meanwhile, Take My Hand
Down and Out in Paris and London
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