I just need to touch something real
After all bunch of similar tasks I checked one after the other, now I don't feel like I've gained things I need. After weeks of resisting with the deep darkness inside, I no longer feel sad and I no longer feel the happiness. Perhaps I'm not drowned in the ocean of sadness but it never means I am fulfilled.
It's been weeks I don't feel like missing home because I'm tired of the feeling.
The truth is I miss home at each and every single moment even if I don't acknowledge, even if I don't let it flow over my body.
Gothenburg is on the way. It's getting closer and closer as if my life is getting closer, demonstrating how I miss the senses of connectivity and belonging, how I miss the intense moments in which I was the Queen of my life, in which I could shout, in which I could laugh, and in which I could cry-specially beneath his neck.
I try to weave dreams of snowy Gothenburg, warm and cozy tea times, bare foots, and heavy knitwears. I keep telling myself "Zara! that's all you need, owing your life, your moment, and your story. That's what you've missed painfully." But I don't believe that's all I've missed.
Life appears so well, so normal, and so flawless but not appealing and heartwarming. All poets are buried in me, all words are dead.
Sitting behind my window, gazing at the dark outside, seeking the missing stream of emotions.
It's been weeks I don't feel like missing home because I'm tired of the feeling.
The truth is I miss home at each and every single moment even if I don't acknowledge, even if I don't let it flow over my body.
Gothenburg is on the way. It's getting closer and closer as if my life is getting closer, demonstrating how I miss the senses of connectivity and belonging, how I miss the intense moments in which I was the Queen of my life, in which I could shout, in which I could laugh, and in which I could cry-specially beneath his neck.
I try to weave dreams of snowy Gothenburg, warm and cozy tea times, bare foots, and heavy knitwears. I keep telling myself "Zara! that's all you need, owing your life, your moment, and your story. That's what you've missed painfully." But I don't believe that's all I've missed.
Life appears so well, so normal, and so flawless but not appealing and heartwarming. All poets are buried in me, all words are dead.
Sitting behind my window, gazing at the dark outside, seeking the missing stream of emotions.
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