Do you ever feel so pressured when it comes to facing new years? Do you also feel, like I do, so depressingly jealous of other people who are able to vomit brilliant words and repaint good memories of what they went through the whole year? And then you watch them standing there, telling every other people of their dreams, of what they wish to achieve in next year, with this positive shining attitude that you instantly hate them just because you can’t be like that?

There’s always something, as my mum used to say.

Always something, always something.

But here I am, sitting in a fancy hotel room and staring at the empty road for hours and hours and hours and… nothing. It’s supposed to feel like a celebration, with all the gathering, food, people, with all the money that’s spent. Do you know what’s so special about the very last day of the year? You can see it in two ways. It’s either an almost-end day, or an almost-start day. It’s either something’s ending, or something’s starting. Or maybe both. But what’s ending? What’s starting? Because every day feels the same to me. I’m constantly cold, and at the same time constantly in a fire. I can feel myself slowly turning into ashes, yet I feel like I’m going to freeze any moment. Maybe I’ll turn into frozen ashes. Cold, empty, and yet gives you this painful sensation of what’s left of fire.

It’s either something’s ending, or something’s starting.

But I am fading away.

2 months ago with 26 notes 26 notes
tagged as: writing.