I am scared. I am scared. I am always scared.
I want to go back, find my beautiful city again. I’m not happy with myself here.
I could’ve lived beautiful things, I’m in heaven, I know. But when I go to bed in the morning, the day is still sleeping. And even the most beautiful sunset doesn’t compare with the break of day.
So I bore myself, I tan my skin, I listen to stories and I let time pass.
I haven’t read (nearly) enough, haven’t taken enough pictures. I just drag myself along and wait. I hate myself like that.
The night will be long, the vacationers are already gone. It’s long, to be paid to do nothing. It’s stimulating my passivity. It doesn’t need to. Nope.
Charles said: “It’s crazy how a person evolves in a year.”
But what about me? How have I evolved?
I am so scared, and for once, it has nothing to do with love.