I am seeing women from the other side of the window. She is beautiful. pretty eyes, an innocent look, and a shy smile. I fell in love instantly. Love for me is the void that always attracted a great deal of recognition of the desire. Something really attractive approach she gave towards life that I never felt it has. All about life, is a constant prayer of things hoping to go in the right direction, and here she was, just lying there like nothing is going on, and it’s going to be all right.

I am not a weak man, but poetry has a meaning that has always seen its bright days, and I write to see what happens, and what I feel. when I write a sentence that is quite close, I see the words coming out as nothing but strings of my own falseness trying to get everything right and putting it in the open for judgment because I do not know any better.

The words come and go and in between the known, and the unknown we travel to get past the point of no return. I think I know a lot about life, but that is just one part of it, the infinity still remains, always haunts me to say what I am missing and what is still out there. when there are no words coming and you eat a portion of food to see what's in the wallet to keep you drag away from the smoke of exhaustion and yet you still go on.

It’s quite late a night, the music is always as it has been, a fleeting desire for a past life, who is having the imagination to play a game with feelings. What am I missing? I am really missing a part of me that has left me, and I don’t feel any pain about the person that has left. It always has been a lookout, the character that dwindles, me seeing my own character getting unfolds into various layers of false. Always shedding some skin like the lizards to be truthful, yet I am so deceiving.

It is not an act, as I am realizing it now that all my acts have been for one single reason. To be the individual that I have always looked up to. This individual is the one that told me to not cry when I fell from the 1st floor of a window. I was 12 years old, and the strong voice told me to be strong. The voice is not the individual, but the sequence of decisions that is giving me a part of reality, a sense of desperation, and a constant nag of the ugliness that all is in me. The individual and the people stand face-to-face with one another. Have you got the guts?

Oh, she is leaving. Why am I so scared of approaching someone who looks more familiar than a stranger? It’s because we are not open enough, and still believe that evil still lurks in the mind of a man. But it’s not that too, it’s more of a fear that holds us all back like me trying so many things and failing, and still rowing my boat at the end of the tunnel to have a view of whether I am correct. It is not an ego thing.

Well, the piano, the soft touch of a key in the flat, the harmony, and the beautiful technique to get fully immersed. Just like women, it doesn't scare me that much, but I have no piano with me, but sometimes I do hear a symphony that you may not like, a song that I have written, you may not like it. Today I had one melody come to me, or rather I was just fixating on the instruments that lie motionless, and a detuned singer taking full control of my own emotions. So far, the words are coming less and less and less, and I am a bit concerned about my mother as she is ill.