I feel something's strange. it's like a part of me really wants
to go as soon as possible. thirsty of adventures and
new chapter of this non-fiction novel, but the other wants to
reminisce every single thing that left because some things are too
precious, too expensive, I can feel the adrenaline
and the sorrow at the same time
I keep remembering how hurt was the pain and how meaningful
was the happiness I've had, how people changed
how love came with heart break and tortures
the glimpse of heaven showed in the last minute
in one of my chapter
thousands of hours are waiting
to be killed, and my dark brown lenses
have never been more ready
to see the exquisite landscapes
and praising them like an alcoholic needs the white russian
feels like I don't want to sleep
because my real-astonishing life
is even better than having an endless cash
