Destroyed foundations
The humble neighborhood I was born.
A foreigner among my own people.
The roof of my house. Forbidden cigarettes.
working men and woman walked about their day.
I tried to decipher their goals and their dreams.
Faces showed despair and glimpse of hope.
Maybe...
my own projection from that roof where I observed the world beneath me.
Heavy heart and recent wounds. I wanted to fly somewhere, anywhere but here.
run from yourself. if you do, you can't for long. Nostalgia will catch up and the pain of your wounds like a hedonist will be entertained in fleeting moments. The pain will return clockwise until you are ready to tend appropriately. Sink into your darkness and feel your defeat. Feel the burn and hopelessness. Stay there until you managed to have the sun's ray cheer you up.
It's the beginning of the end.
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