Sometimes life gets hard. You strugle to find a way out of the confusion that is in your head. To fight the lonelines and transmute this into solitude. You strugle to find joy in your routine, and you go from "ok" to sadness in a blink of an eye. The old friends are far, facing their own battles or gone. Family has their own business, their own shit to deal. And the blank space is a ghost in the living room. There is some relief at the work. You see familiar faces, you feel useful and the bills are paid monthly. You still functional, you cook, you go to the gym, you still bath everyday. But deep down you’re broken. You’re a damaged machine. It’s hard to keep this going on. This life, this kind of life. There’s no goal, no north. No wind is good for my sails. No harbor is safe. No shore brings joy and smile. I’m used to the salt and sun.
I became bitter and silent, slowly losing confidence. The pursue of time is an already lost battle. Now I count my years backwards. Maybe I have another 20 ahead of me. Maybe less, maybe more. It doesnt really matter now. I think I lost the will to live the moment I reallized that I had lost my most precious treasure. It took me so much time to see this. Time I could had used to regain us. To regain me. Or maybe to get lost forever. It’s said that there’s a god above. That everything has a time and a reason to happen. But I look around and see no invisible hand to alleviate the pain. Everyone I know is fighting an invisible war inside their minds. We’re broken and torn apart. By wind, by salt, by sun. We’re dryed to the bone, and tired as well. We’re the marching dead. The unliving that refused to lay down. The ones that keep going on, although don’t knowing the reason nor the way.
The voices once only inside my head now find way through my mouth, through my fingers. Only exhaustion brings peace in the bed, and the road to Morpheus gets harder to find every passing night. I keep on walking, more for the ones I care than for myself. It would be a terrible burden into the afterlife, if there’s one. To give up. But no, I keep on walking. Salt in my wounds, the sun in my head. No solace, no redemption. Just one step after another. One more. One more...
