So you get up every morning. You’re alive, sure, but what are you really living for? Are you making the best of everything in front of you? Are you happy where you are? Can you ever find out what your purpose in life is? It drives me insane as I sit down with my thoughts that seem to take me to some other world that seems perfect. But what is perfect? I’m always wondering. It’s mind boggling how much thoughts your mind can hold. My mind speaks to me in ways that nothing else can, it’s just a matter of whether it’s telling me the right things. Enlighten me, who are the happy people in this world? Who is genuinely content with life? Or is that just the impossible?
My life merely consists of me trying to only do things that I love to do. Mostly, writing. Whether it be a song, a poem or a story. I just like to lose myself in a flow of words. The best possible way to release my mind is through words.
He sits on the curb with his Harvey Davidson parked nearby. A cigarette hangs loosely on his lips and a hint of a smirk is visible. His shaggy brown hair falls into his eyes but moves as the wind blows. You catch a glimpse of his eyes and suddenly you feel like your staring into the sea. The cold didn’t seem to bother you anymore as you get lost in his eyes. You quickly avert your eyes when you remember the words of your friend. ‘He’s not good news, he’s just another bad boy.’ Curiosity conquers you. You always want what you can’t have and you can’t help but feel pulled to him. It’s like the forces of attraction are pushing you towards him and before you even know it, you’re siting down next to him on the curb. The rest is history. It was your first bike ride and though it filled with fear, it felt ever so right. The future? Well, let’s just say Cinderella wants her fairytale ending back.
I have this gigantic writer’s block.
And I’m so pissed at myself for that.
Frustrated beyond compare right now.
If I had any heart left, I’d give it all to you.