Maybe outside isn’t for me, maybe this isn’t my place. Maybe here and there is exactly the same place with a different name. Maybe is just a maybe or just a similar amount of things lost in a tiny little line where our eyes can´t reach.
Sometimes, probably every single day, things seem a bit messy even if it looks good from the outside. It always looks good from the outside, although no one wants to come inside and smell the pain of the ink.
And we paint it the way we want to paint it, we color it with the colors we choose or with the colors that comes first to our hands. Sometimes, nothing really matters and it is better to be messy painted than not painted at all.
Sometimes it is like something is missing...or everything is missing at once. And we wake up in the morning and the only thing we know is that the day will end, and we will go back to bed and sleep, then wake up, then we waste some more ink, we waste some more lines, then we waste some more time, then we asleep again…and nothing happens, and no paintings and no landscapes.
And we smile, and we pretend that words are really words and the meaning is more than the meaning that the meaning it has. And we smile just for the sake of smiling, like everyone was really interested in our smile…or in us at all.
The time goes by and today looks just like it looked yesterday, and, day after day, the dome is losing it beauty and the darkness is getting darker and darker, and all the faces are fading away just like it was before the before.
The time runs and I’m losing control. My thoughts are losing direction, going everywhere apart from the place it should go. Sometimes I don’t know anything, sometimes it seems like I know everything, more than I should know.
And I'm seating here, in this piece of land, looking back and forward, trying to find a better view but it is out of my sight. I wish I could be more positive today, but I did tried yesterday and the day before and I couldn’t see it much better then. Sometimes I just give up and I let the world to draw a new path, so, somehow I can go somewhere away from here.
It’s difficult to reach the light and it’s hard to see the lines in the dark. Sometimes they can’t even see my smile when I pretend to smile; they can’t see any teardrop that comes out of my eyes. Sometimes they can’t even see me at all.
Sometimes, when I’m walking around, I meet faces and thoughts and shadows but they aren’t real! Even if they are great, it won’t be the same – they aren’t you! Then, all my imagination vanishes and I still sat there, trying to find a landscape so I can color it.
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