Staring at the ceiling, lying on the floor ...

I'm gonna start again by apologizing for not being here for so long ... but sometimes I need the break and the silence.

I've never considered myself a writer but rather someone who experiences feelings, emotions, drama or happy moments, situations and people... things that sometimes make me write and share, and some other times they just activate the selfishness in me and make me wanna keep them hidden in my mind and heart.

I turned myself into some kind of very straight and not so "dreaming at all times" person. I keep telling myself and others i'm not like that, but late at night, when I end up in my room, alone and i start clearing the cobwebs from my old self, i realise I'm nothing like I used to be anymore. And I really can't point the finger to the moment when i've lost my hopes and dreams and became so harsh with myself and others.

Have I lived too much, too fast?

And maybe I've lived too much, too fast.

We have the right to live, to dream and to be wrong about people and things. I'm disappointed but I'm happy I lived like the wind. Fairy tales do not exist and lets not even talk about Prince Charming, cause there's another story too good to be true.

Cristinnne.