One poet once said: "It's hard to breathe while you are still without any words". Sure she was right. It's hard not only to breathe. It's hard to stand up from all this darkness while you are still without any words. It's freaking hard. Nobody could understand this. But without this kind of darkness you would be unable to see any lightness. To see any light, which is necessary for you like an oxygen, to breathe. I guess, I am going out of the words. Better to stop here, while I still have them.

...

 Why should you, a kind little creature hurt others? Why should you pretend to be better than you are right now? Why should you hurt, lie, pretend? Please, at least, stay honest with yourself. I know who I am and I know who I do not want to be. I understand every action, I make. And I wish I could change. Only a little bit, to be more something better. I know I am not good enough. Not pretty enough, not happy enough, not mature enough, not elegant enough, not brave enough, not smart enough, not "anything" enough... I guess, I am not made to trust others and to trust myself. I can not relay on nobody. I can not let anyone in to my heart. Must lock everything. My minds are my own prison and nobody is able to save me...

Perfect time

I think of the perfect time. I am perfectionist. I always was. I think of the sea, the waves and 100% chocolate. The perfect evening. The stars which are falling down. Funny, because it will never happen. I have never tasted 100% chocolate. I do not live near the sea. I always miss the feeling when the waves are beating your feets. People who live near the sea will never understand this. I want it so much. Right, now. Take all the pain and bring it to the sea. 

Everybody are the same ....

I drink strong coffee, talk about my future, plan things, discuss serious stuff. I see the same eyes, just not shinny. I see the same eyes, but not the same girl. If friends would see me like that, they would ask me:"what had happened to that sweet, lovely, chubby girl?". I know what I would answer. I am sure. But it will never happen, because to people I am always sunny, happy, laughing, smiling, silly girl. I really want that someone would cut 10cm in my chest.  Ah. They see in my heart black holes. Plenty of them. It has to be like that. I guess. It has to hurt. If it hurts that means you are still alive. You will be dead if you will not feel anything. Furthermore, people are made to hurt each other. With or without guns. The blood which you can see is nothing bad. When you can compare it with the true blood inside you... Well the second one is worse. It is always like that. All people are made to lie, hurt, cheat... We are all the same. It does not matter how we look like. We are all the same. We all think about the same things. Believe me, it does not even matter if you are girl or boy. We are all the same. The same unkind people. 

The Human Race

How can you take the "goodness" and know its weight. How can you compare one to another and say: this is good, that one is bad. It is just impossible. Impossible as to taste oxygen in the air. It is like to catch the butterfly and hold it forever. Impossible. Impossible as to look at the sunset all evening without stopping. Just impossible. We are all the same. Human race, I mean. Everyone need the same: love, health, peace. This is what everyone asks for. Strange, isn't it? We all travel hundred of kilometres just to see an ocean, even though, we just want to run from the place we are born in. We travel hundred of kilometres just to see the place where is better than here, but we can not find it. Isn't that weird, that we, human race, live on the earth, when in our planet 71 percent is water? We are crazy. We are mad. We are human. We are throwing the food that we do not like to eat, even though in the world thousand of children are suffering from the hunger. We look at the flower and smile if it is big and colourful, but we look at the fat kid and we laugh from him or her. Even though, both of them are made by the Mother Nature. We, human race, meet people, talk to them and then gossip them  with others, even though, we do not want that others would do the same. We are selfish. We are cynics. We are liars. We are everything that our parents warn of. We are like that. All like that. All this human race. We are like that.

Memories

I remember my childhood. Like in a fog and not clearly. Some memories are not full, some parts of them are missing. I am about 6 years old. On the bed pillow with colourful butterflies. My mom is sitting near the bed. She is telling me something. I am smiling. The pillow smells Saturdays. That smell I could recognize from thousand kilometres away. The smell of washing powder, the smell of flowers, cleanliness and all the seasons of year. The most wonderful smell that reminds me home. And suddenly mom dissappears. I remember old lady in the hospital. I am little about 3 years old. I am sitting on the bed. She gives me a doll. The most wonderful, spectacular doll. That doll is bigger than me. Suddenly darkness, emptyiness. I am at my grandmother's house. All children are playing chasing game. I run. I fall down. The sandwich, which I was holding in my little hands falls down too. Suddenly I wake up, I am all in the blood. I stand up and walk. I am near my grandmother. Telling her what have happened. I am crying. She takes all medical equipment that she could find in the house. A hole, emptyiness. Like unfinished script for a movie. There are so many parts missing. I can't know.   

White walls

I am sitting on the cold metal chair. On the wall there is a clock. It is 10:57. Suddenly the shouting is just so scary. Door opens. From the room comes a child: young, about 3 years old, with red eyes from the tears, blonde hair and face of exhausted and frustrated boy; his tears are swimming on his little cheeks. Terrible. Now it is my turn. I go to the room. They ask me if I have any metal things with me, if I have any bracelets, earrings, piercings, they ask me my birth date. They put on me heavy metal thing and say do not move. The machine starts to move. I am waiting... I close the doors. On the metal and cold chair sits the same kid. He is without any emotions. His eyes look dead. He sits, but as dead. Emotionally dead. Suddenly he looks like woke up from the dream, even though he was not sleeping. He starts to scream and shout. I am looking at him. The most terrible view I have ever seen. That little kid strugles with his emotions... What a terrible view. That little kid just looks with that eyes and my heart is just bleeding...