Astray Thoughts

Treats from a Diary

Beware, some of it sounds like poetry...

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March 6th 2012

I've always had a hard time with feelings. For the simple reason that I've never found the right person to express them to, nor do I find the appropriate time to tell them. I tell them to who ever bothers listening and then I tell them everything I can think of. Rarely, if ever, have I received the result I wanted from it. I'm not going to lie, though, I have friends. Friends who a sweet and who listen, but I still feel alone and like an outsider. Now more than ever.
I've been dragged out of my life, or what I assumed to be my life, my old life, in Sweden. It feels like its gone forever.
I've next to no contact with my old friends lately, now after Thomas stopped being their teacher. I miss them more than ever, everyone of them. I really wish that it could be like before, but I'll will have to keep on dreaming. // tears Mp

December 14 2012

...
I've thought about something, what most people value is love,friendship, honesty, and freedom. Yet, the human, in general, is a liar, a heartbreaker, and a power obsessed phenomenon. It's not surprising that the world looks like it does. I'm just glad that happiness and friends exist, same for freedom. But nobody has everything for ever.
...

// thoughtful me

January 22 2013

The days are floating together, birthdays pass in full speed, and I barely knows what day it is. I really miss Sweden, especially Ellen, but it doesn't feel like I belong there anymore. Forgotten and replaced of the bunch of friends who have become friends with other friends, and so on. Or I'm just a forgotten empty space that nobody even bothers filling.
Nevertheless, I grief because I got no home, nobody's shoulder to cry on, nobody to feel safe around. I live in something in between in which I don't know what's in and out. Nothing is home.

The time that has passed by over this last month is nothing I really want to remember. Johanssons were here; I now see oscar in a negative manor, and it's going to take something major to change that. My birthday was fairly boring, but the food was good, and my parents tried their best to make it as good as possible. (Appreciated)

// Mp

February 5 2013

Time runs away, but it has always done that.
Love from a boy is nothing I'm seeking, but love from a friend. To trust someone is hard but I have nothing more to hide. So if anyone spills my secrets there is no harm done. Books are good for making time pass by and to forget, something I taken advantage of. School has started and I'm not used to it, but I will be I guess. I have become somebody else, but I like her. She is similar to my old self, yet has a new idea about "the point of life." I don't have so much to write, so good night with a good book.

// Mp

February 6 2013

What should I say, everything is said but nobody knows.
I'm who I am, but who am I?
Time stand still, time flows, but nobody knows.
Should I forget and dream, or remember and exist?
I've never been special, but neither understood.
Do you Have to try for the stars in hope of flying, when you rather sit in the dark and be quietly crying?
Love is incomprehensible for someone who does know, but we all dream in secret, about the love we saw yesterday, the one only happiness portray.

// Mp

April 1 2013

Art, as it's called in English, konst, as we translate it to in Swedish, but that doesn't begin to cover the meaning of this colossal word. In fact it's so huge that we can barely picture it.
It's all the words: written, spoken, thought, expressed through body language, pictures, sculptures, movies, and through structures. It's bigger than words, but as we understand and express our selfs through words there are not a better way to describe it. For us it's ALL words, everything you can describe, everything you believe, think, feel, everything you know. The list is longer than what our mind can comprehend, but this is how far I can take it, without writing forever. Within this word lies everything we know and all beyond our thoughts of philosophies. Without it there is nothing, and nothing is impossible to describe for there has never been such a thing as nothing, for nothing is a lack of everything, something always exist.