sobota, 8 marca 2014


We're driving recklessly too fast these street, looking constantly in rear view mirrors insted of looking forward. Broken-hearted or heart-breaking. We can't  get over just the same thing, avoiding to call things by its name, afraid to lose the dream that keeps us lust for life. We have already said everything at least thousand times and the story needs to be told once again, anytime we are finished with it. What is wrong - with us, or with the world, that we just can't fit here; it's not a movie that we play in, it's not a slushy pop song, it's not a cheap book that we keep on writing, but Honey, I just hate that guy, and so do you. That's too obvious to be understood.

I never lose my temper. I used to say. Stubbornly calm and uninterested in other people's affair and completely unconcerned about those of my own. What has happened to me, that's another mystery
of this recklessly driven road.