I don’t know…

I don’t know what it means to grow up. How does it feels to understand more about life than you used to? How does it feel to have more to think about than before? How does it feel to realize that what you used to know as important problems were actually just tiny specks on life’s glasses?

I don’t know what it means to fall in love. How does it feel to have butterflies in your stomach just thinking of someone? How does it feel to wish to have that someone near you for the rest of time? How does it feel to eat, sleep, breathe, think, and be for just one purpose: to love that someone?

I don’t know what it means to be happy. How does it feel to smile and laugh at every little thing? How does it feel to wake up in the morning enjoying life? How does it feel to have everything you want and everything that makes you happy?

I don’t know what it means to be loved. How does it feel to have someone tell you how special you are? How does it feel to know that: I love you, is not just a phrase like any other? How does it feel to be loved?

I don’t know what it means to be alive… How does it feel?

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Crazy kid in a weird grown up world! Perfect in my own way!

3 thoughts on “I don’t know…”

  1. mintea unui muritor de rand asa cum ma consider eu nu poate sa cuprinda atat tristete,suferinta si autocritica dusa la nivelul pe care il duci tu mi se pare exagerat.Nu pot sa stiu cu ce ti-a gresit viata atat de grav sa spui lucrurile aste parerea mea este caci sunt starile tale de moment exprimate in scris.FI un pic mai optimista caci totusi nu ai 50 de ani.te salut cu cel mai al dracu respect

  2. consider ca in necunostinta de cauza nu e bine sa dai sfaturi, eu nu fac asta si nici nu-mi place sa le primesc de la altii. Ce mi-a gresit sau ce nu mi-a gresit viata e o alta problema… Ce scriu eu pe blog nu se rezuma strict la ce simt pe moment si nu intotdeauna este despre mine… Imi place sa scriu, asa cum un scriitor scrie o carte, asa scriu eu pe blog…

  3. Dreams, dreams, dreams… having flown by at your site some time ago, and already thinking by then about leaving a comment like a butterfly stopping by at a flower sticking out prominently, this time you even mention butterflies yourself in your thoughts. Though in a different context. Dreams – when we grow up, we have dreams, or rather, we think these are dreams. But actually, they are expectations. More than dreams. We expect them to become true at one point of your life. Whatever they might be, whatever it is, our illusion of it, how we wish them to be. They are not necessarily as they are, once they become true, if they become true. Maybe over time we realize, not every dream has to become true. Rather, some better not become true, since reality can never compete with our dreams. And we lower our expectations to reality, keeping at the little, small joys of every life while we continue to wait. Wait from one little left expectation to the next one to happen. And in the meantime of waiting, we do stuff. Live life as it is easy or difficult, as it is imposed upon us. Not running after the big dream any more which seems to be more and more out of reach. Still a little hope left, but not really believing in it, and even more, not knowing how to make these dreams come true. Only what is left is to wait, swimming down the stream of life, watching others in their alleged success in their remote lives on a seemingly different planet, another universe, while ourselves we just grow older, doing lots of useless stuff which seems important at the moment, or not even that, and it actually is just to numb ourselves while floating down the stream towards the big sea of dreams where we really want to end up in the end. This is rather vegetating, more than living, like a plant, existing from day to day, doing nothing than surviving, but still, knowing there is to be more, the seek for light, the search for the end of the tunnel of waiting for the really big thing to happen. Which we don’t know, but we think we know it, and we think it is just so close and in reach, we just need to grab it. Only we despair by not knowing how to do just that. Alive, but not living. Numb like a plant.

    You’re inspiring. Thank you.

    A Butterfly.

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