We buy things we don't need to impress people we don't even like. That's what life is. No, that's what we turn life into. A piece of bullshit. And we return every single day in our empty departments with minds full of spirits and love. All the love that we will never confess. All that love we have and nobody cares. Just talking, just talking about useless stuff and nothing really important to be mentioned. No one really into us, no one really interested in learning us. Oh! Come on. We don't let others know us better because we are afraid... Afraid of love? Maybe. Afraid of truth, definetely. We prefer loneliness. We suffocate our most intense feelings into alcohol, or into another bad novel. Writing about things that we never felt or never showed. And our lives continue this way.
That's why the most lonelly people turned into the best writers. That's why the best novels are full of feelings. As I had heard in one movie-mi scusi, ma non posso ricordare qui filmo è- these who can, do, these who cannot do, teach or write. That's why the most hurted people turn into writers. In our empty space of fantasy we create castles, we create our fictional life, our fictional love. And nothing can be compared to this. Nothing is really good as it is. And the next morning we come back to the real world lonely again and depressed of another person that tried to fix things out for us.
No one can do this for you. No one can fix you, buddy. That's why they should stop trying. They are strangers. They won't understand even if they appear willing. It is a fictional world but less ideal than the world you have dreamed about. It is the social media world. Looking for attention, likes and all the other stuff. That is love, my buddy, nowadays. And even if there is someone real, we don't believe him. We are so disgusted of the fake world, of how fake ourselves could be or can be, that we cannot listen. It is something like the Plato story about the "allegory of the cave". We have been blinded by all these glitters with the belief that they are gold, we buy stairways to heaven and what we really have is a place closer to hell.
We encage our hearts and our minds, our souls and bodies. We purify our lives. No one can touch us. We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us. We hate everyone, because we firtsly hate ourself that is so damn weak to say goodbyes, to face the truth, to hurt others. We prefer to get hurted in order not to hurt people we care about. And the only one who loses in the end is ourself. One piece each time, till the time we lose it all. Even if we know where we belong. Somewhere we belong...
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