Wednesday, 18 February 2015

[500 Days] 18 February

18 February. 
Ill. Sick. No voice. Lying in bed.
Listening to the cars outside and looking at the grey sky.
Has anyone ever liked February?
Even the internet is taking a day off today.
I am no writer but sometimes stories come to me in such hurry, such urgency. They beg to be written down before they vanish from human consciousness forever.
It was on Monday. A photo of a golden girl reminded me of the cobblestones in Bratislava and all those beginnings and endings that were hiding under a far greater story. A story made up by humans who did not really dare to let go of the familiar and the old. What is it with us humans anyway? We hold on to what we know while we long for something better. Everything has its place, so it must be. Pretenses and illusions, we turn to false hopes and hear what we want to hear. 
Sometimes we just need to breathe. And do.
This coffee tastes rather horrible, by the way.
Remember to breathe.
And to do.


Optimistic Existentialist said...

I love the poetic nature of this post...beautiful writing :)

PorkStar said...

Oh and where are you by the way?
Haven't read you in almost a month :(