Sometimes I wish to be somewhere else.
I wish to be on an island. Where I could put my feet on the sand... feel the little fishes biting my flesh while I sense the waves licking my legs... slowly... in their own rythym.
I wish to be in the desert. Where the sun would warm my face and the sand would give me directions - whether up or down - , the heat would make me feel alive and the sky would be so blue and there would be the infinite.
I wish to be in the city. Where the people around me would walk fast and talk loud. The crowd would guide me to places I've never been. The lights would blind me and the energy would lift me up, no matter how down I'd've been. Where the city could swallow me, chew me and puke me, just like in the movies.
Sometimes I wish to be home.
Where there's mom. There's dad. There's dog. There's cat. There's small talk at the table and bad mood in the morning. Where the break-ups live for minutes and patience must live forever. Where peace is easy to find, even when there's a huge fight at dinner.
Sometimes I really wish I had a home and not be back for nights.
To see if I'm missed. To experience the possibility that I am dead and watch how my family would react if I was not coming back in, like, ever.
I wish I was at a friend's house. In a party. In a club. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere nice.
Where everybody could see me and actually see that I'm trying - so hard - to please everyone else that I forget about me every single time.
The only pleasure I get on my life is when I give someone else happiness, moods, fights, sex, anything.
I don't even care if I cum in sex anymore. Actually, I don't think I've ever cared.
I only wanted to love. And to tender. And to cherish. And to support.
And I forgot about me.
Honestly, I don't think there's a way back for me... I don't imagine myself actually caring only and exclusively about myself and my dreams. I feel empty because I learned - from myself, I don't attribute this to anyone else - to be empty when I'm alone.
I left my heart on someone else's cares a long time ago and didn't get it back. I honestly don't think I can.
I'm not saying that the person still owns it. I just haven't learned how do pulse by myself, so my heart is stuck upon a shelf somewhere... dirty, waiting for me to come back, give him home, give him peace, give him blood, give him life.
I'm on automatic right now and never been such a mess.
Still, life goes on and I continue to pretend - to everybody e to myself - that I'm a dreamer, that I don't care, that I can do it by myself.
Sometimes I wish I had no religion. That I could live without believing in God or anything that is above me.
You see, I run. I travel a hundred million miles and I still don't know where I am.
I wish I was somewhere else. Where no one could find me... but myself. Corky that way, but it is a true story.