Being back home

Every story has it's lazyness. It is impossible to maintain an equal amount of attention towards all things. We choose. And so, we become. We grow older with time and we collect traits that suit our expectations. 

Sometimes we follow the words and views of the others and sometimes we run away from everything.

 Every story follows a set of rules. A shake of the mind wakes us up and we do our best to blend in with the traits that we got. 

Stories had always found me. It did not matter if i was in love or not. The wind of my mind had always contructed a story. And i tried to blend with the trait that I got. 

I loved, chased and bitched. 

Years came round and the story of me tried to be, it tried to fall in love with everyone, it tried to be happy with a community, it ceised knowing what it wanted to be. There was a world wherein everything had an order, and I did not find a place among them. I wanted to hang on, suspending from the two sides of life. Never choosing a side. and in this emptiness I found freedom. I found happiness. I found love. Could I wander this place of wonder? Could I find a home in the acceptation of the world itself. In all it's trivial powers of choice. Could I find a home among the liberty of choice. I wanted to make mistakes, I wanted to say that i did not care about the light or the darkness of myself. I could see them as pictures, images of a shattered world. And by giving mistakes the power to be happy whatever happened, i gave myself the freedom to be, without expectations and dreams.

 If you want to be free, than you let go. 

My dreams were out there somewhere waiting for me. My expectations led me. My heart was fragmented into reality and thrown in the unknown. It waited, it watched as I came. As i made mistakes and lost myself in the whirlwind of mind. But there was a string. A loose memory of a kingdom. My heart was melted in the landscapes. It could be seen in the swift change. In the breeze. And as i filled my skin with darkness, i was giving the world my light. A duality, bravery, content. It showed me the integrity of the world. Every story has it's lazyness but maybe it is possible, to represent the things we choose and love the things we cannot love. To have patience and express the details.