prose

It’s easy to feel down, to lie still in your sorrow. It’s even easier to let the world fool you into thinking you have no other choice than to do just that.

It's been a while since we talked. I'm 23 years old now, but sometimes I still feel like I'm the same 12-year-old boy you left behind years ago with no explanation or answer or hint.

I can still see her, even if she’s no longer around. I can still feel her, even if she isn’t by my side anymore. She’s supposed to be gone, we’re supposed to be through, but she’s still here.

your struggles : mosquitoes hovering around God's heads, barely bothering Him. Sometimes, he kills one of them. And we thank Luck.

There’s a soft, soothing electric feel when you put your body close to mine. Have you noticed? I love this feeling, it makes me feel alive and well, and happy sometimes too.

You and I, we could be many things. Travelers, professionals, adults, fools, lovers, wanderers, believers, non-believers, rebels, prisoners. We could be one thing in the bright morning light, and another under the pale moonlight. But right now I don’t care about all that, not at all.