Like a good health, we ignore fresh air when we have it. My fresh air is gone, vanished. I’ve just realized that I lost It. Every thing was as easy as breathing. But that is regretfully “was”, not “is”. And now, I’m chocked—(for) I don’t know until when.
I want that this “was” abruptly disperse in reality, portrayed into “is”. I want these phantasmagorias stop irritating my self, my serene life, my entity.
I’m crushing my self into mosaics of my reality’s antecedences: those reluctantly fading reminiscences. I’m in a swirling error, a whirling and zigzagging weirdness, sadness, emptiness; trying to find up a single hollow of happiness.
Like a flying kite, I saw a portrait of my whole journey from up above. My past. At almost every page of my life, I took my step with dreams. Those dreams. Then why everything must be chosen, between two things I want the most?
It was an unforgettable taste of trauma and pain. I know. But though, I’ve tried my best. Time will heal all the pain, I whispered to my self. I was asking myself why this canvas of pain was beautifully painted. I asked to my self again and again, but still I could not find the answer. And there are too much things I can’t find their answer.
I want to find my lost world, somehow. But many things crush to mind which lead me to ask my self: should I come back?
-written in my 6th semester, in the middle of people listening the course in class