The tv was not showing me anything new. I should blame my empty head for it. I tried to reach out to the book I was reading, but it was empty as well.
Maybe I should draw, but I cannot create what I cannot see.
Maybe I should write. Explain myself the vacancy of my mind, heart and lungs.
I tried to pray. I did the part I don’t understand because I am a white Muslim. But when it came to pray for things in my life I couldn’t put a sentence together. I don’t even want. I don’t need.
I don’t need? What a lie.
I was growing up with two hundred dreams dreamed in a single day.
I have overdone it. I burned the desire to coal. I did it by not doing anything. I wasn’t lazy. I have been so afraid that I would throw up daily. I wouldn’t put a crumb in my mouth and if I did this crumb would sustain me on this day.
My relief would be to let go. Let go of expectations, of trying, of hoping. Then my appetite comes back again and I feel alive again.
Sadness is when I realize that every time I let a dream die, I die with it.
It is tiring to reincarnate again and again.
But I can’t help it, and nobody helps me to rebuild myself. I do it myself every time, so no wonder the results are the same.