Dear someone who is reading my blog,
I tried to write something new for you.
I've written down the first sentence of this post more times than I can count.
My delete button must really hate me..
but the truth is, I don't have something to write that I haven't written before.
It's not that my life is the same, or that my thoughts are the same everyday.
It's just the fact that I don't feel like talking about me,
and I have written too much already about my passions.
The things I love, the people I love, or the things that bother me
are the things that inspire me to write. And the truth is that,
I don't want to write about my love anymore.
I've written poems about it, I cried about distance,
I'm crying about distance still... Almost every day
I painted my love and I'm talking about it when people tell me to describe myself
because it is a part of me.
I just feel like I have to settle down for a little while.
The truth is that sometimes I feel so empty
that I make myself wonder if I will ever be able to feel again.
When I had him next to me I could.
I could feel more.
Now some things are being washed away.
I'm here on my own.
And my ears are hurt with these stupid headphones that I use
so I can speak with my mother on the phone for hours.
And the other day I almost cried at work.
And it's not that I'm sad.
I'm ok.
I'm on a good way with my future,
and I know that my man loves me
and that my parents support me
and that my friends are doing fine.
It's just the fact that I have so many thoughts in my head that make me feel empty.
I never cried as a kid when things that should make me sad.
I don't know if that makes me strong or a coward.
And no one really gets how it feels like living on my own.
They just don't get it.
Because they don't know how my own thoughts can lead me to the woods.
How I am capable of setting fire to my lungs
and how I can water dead flowers with a creepy smile of hope.
The closest that I come with passion these days is touching fabric.
Sounds wrong and weird but it's not.
It is a form of touch.
Nothing in comparison with a touch that can lead you to making love.
But it's something.
I guess...
At nights, I light a vanilla scented candle and I paint faces.
I try to give them expressions.
I try to make the people who will see my art one day feel something.
And I use really hot water for my showers,
and my body has some red spots here and there.
It might be the water or the shower gel that I'm using,
or the fact that I try to wash away the emptiness with my hands
scratching my body with my fingers.
I'm not depressed.
I'm okay.
I'm over with the phase when I used to put a label on my forehead
and let that word lead me through the day.
I don't believe in mental illnesses.
Everyone is different and everyone has his own way with dealing with his feelings.
I just happen to be a very emotional,
-yet, empty but very passionate artist
who cares too much about the people I love
and at the same time try to have control of my life.
The world is so fucked up.
But the thing is, even though you have the knowledge that the world is a chaos,
you have to despite that, be able and light your way through life
and make it count for you.
If you had ask me what I wanted my life to be 2 years ago
I would go crazy about things and the future.
But now, now I'm reaching for something more than just a childish dream.
I'm jumping to catch the light that's called quality.
I'm on my toes trying to reach a life that my art will mean something to me
more than caring about what the world will think of it.
And I'm getting taller everyday.
I might be lost but I've always found my way out.
I always did and I always will.
xxFaidra