I am spending the rest of my night smoking my cigarettes, listening to music and wondering.
Oh how I wonder. I wonder about what is yet to come. I wonder about what will all this bring me. I wonder what might be different this time, eventhough you're still acting like a caring young guy, like someone who'd care for someone else of you like. Do you really like me, the way you said you did?
The night goes by and it's not too fast. The night goes by and I have some time to think about that meeting - the house had a very intense smell to piss of cat and you kept on mentioning my choices, on putting unsaid / umwritten words in my mouth / under my fingers. For someone who speaks a lot about keeping up with an open-mind, you're the one who felt angered at the difference of opinions and for someone under the circumstance of speaking about aiding others and living in peace, you're the one to threaten me the same exact way you are saying that you're attacking the others. Oh, c'mon, can't you see that it's healty to have different opinions and it doesn't means that any of us is wrong? For someone whose mind is so open, why can't you accept that someone can't see the world as such a positive place as you "paint" it out?
I don't want to play the "blaming game".
Do not shoot me. I won't shoot back.
Do not igore me, do not give me a bad face. You won't get the same back.
"Amr com amor se paga" - Love is paid with Love. It works in any other way.
I can now imagine the mount ahead me. The streets of my old village develop ahead me and my steps are strong and secure. I fear not.
You won't see me for a while. A few years later, you might receive the notification of my death. You're invited to a great party after my funeral. My legacy might not be what I've written, neither what I have drawn. My legacy might be the funny stories that you use to humiliate me nowadays. My legay might be the rising from the depths of Hell - this world we live on and their fingers, their voices, their opinions. I don't care. And I couldn't care less, especially after death.
The world spins around. And it keeps spinning.
One day, I'll wake up to a sunny morning in the countryside. That tiny village I speak of. And no dark will be allowed. And no more ethusiasm out mundane chores, as politics, will ever be allowed.
Sing along. Sing along.
Use me, as a motivational piece. Dump me right after.
You'll see me rising up. On different paths and I'll see you as I pass by. My hand will wave you goodbye, as you see me disappearing in the nocturnal fog.