The truth is that since I moved to London I stopped doing anything without the certainty of a safety net. I don't know, any safety net.. knowing that someone loves me, that they will look after me, letting me know when something dangerous comes towards me or at least be there when and if I fall. Anyone, my mum, my dad, my sister, M.
No matter how many times I've collapsed under the weight of my own thoughts, I found someone there to teach me how to pick myself up, to show me how to fix myself if I was broken, to help me walk again with confidence; someone to wake me up, a word to comfort me, a story to bring me to life...
I had to lose that safety net and I'm probably still moving funny, but I'm moving. Along with all the fear I gathered in my short life and the assumption that I was ready to walk by myself through the quicksand jungle. (I can hear Mr. Rose singing in my head right now.)
I always tell you you're gonna get there! I always tell you I'm gonna be there for you. And I will.
Now I write thinking about the past, afraid of waking up in a future I can't change, but extremely calm and detached. I don't know if I should just sit on the sofa and cry my heart out or laugh till my stomach hurts, because at this point life looks like an old movie I'm forced to watch.
There are some dreams and nice memories tho.
No, not the kind you tell all your grandchildren over dinner when you're 70, but the kind you only tell your favorite grandson with a smile and a tear fighting to take over your eyes.
I don't know if I forget, or if I'm mistaking forever with never, I don't know if it's good or bad, or if it's ever gonna happen again or if my life is just gonna go on like this, but I know that right now, I'm craving that heat nearly as much as I'm trying to get away from it.
People move on, and I did the same. I kept the smoke as a reminder that not so long ago, I was fire.