22

Somewhere between the restless nature of my being and the 12 o clock that marks the begining of the 28th day of January, also known as my birthday, I found myself trying to write. Again.

I was unable to do so for a while.

I felt drained of emotion, vibration and creativity. I saw my thoughts breaking long before I was even able to translate them into beautiful words for my virtual sheet.

I guess I needed to be just with myself or only with people I can be myself around.

...and my writing was always my favorite way of "talking". And now I'm talking. About life. About how life itself is a gift, but it's a fight and it's like a treasure. It's struggle and dispair, joy and harmony and sometimes, if you're anything like me, it's a war with yourself.

And out of everything, love is the only thing that can last more than life itself.

In this century of speed and neurosis, the greatest danger is to love fast, burn it quickly, suffer fast and forget everything as soon as possible.

When I was in love, I suffered the most, but that was the time when my fingers were typing lovely words everyday.

Now back to this year... for a long time I was annoyed. For being around one person. Because I knew, at any moment, they could just see through me. That made me feel vulnerable =>> total bitch. And what am I doing now? I'm learning to live with it.

I'm gonna be 22 in two hours.... How am I gonna deal with that!?!?!?

Cristinnne.