Wrenched Lullabies
Honey,
people only write about their sadness.
They live out their joy.
people only write about their sadness.
They live out their joy.
Long Pauses
Hi, I haven’t written in a while, but maybe I have never stopped. I have been thinking a lot lately, about the construct of who I am as a person and all what makes me, you know, me. Funny I know since I spent most of the past 10 years figuring that out, without a clear conclusion. Mostly a blurred-out line that started to plateau after a certain age. Was it 22? My first heartbreak, me realizing how all heartbreaks are similar and stem out of denial of what you thought would be yours? Was it 24? With me breaking every taboo I know to feel more? To love harder? To experience my existence with a greater depth? Was it 25? With me opening up my mind to see what’s really there? 26? 27? 28? 29? Getting wasted? Falling in love again and again? Kissing under the rain? Opening up my body in an attempt to detach from a physical being only to confine myself even more? Baggage. Emotional baggage. Long dark alleyways filled with dust, blood and alm...
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