The first ride...
We are always looking forward for that feeling, the first time we ride the white horse. Mine is not necessarily heroin. But the ride is never the same. We wait for that sensation, that thing that we cannot control.
I feel like a junkie sometimes. [the junkie of the heart] and I wonder if I would be that free again.
Probably not. I´m not that free inside of myself. I´ve changed. But all the people have changed. We are suppose to change, aren´t we?
Things I wanted then I don´t want now, but I´m not quite sure about the things I want.
I want to connect to myself. And understand myself. Be myself. Even though I don´t know what is to be myself.
Meaning is something that is hard to find sometimes. Most of the times. And I wish I could find someone who could understand that. Who could be me. I wish I found myself one day on the street. I want to talk to myself.
It´s, in fact, so easy for me to lose interest. How I wish I could be in peace all the time. But sometimes my thoughts are much stronger than me. And my words are as heavy as stone.
It becomes difficult to breath, in and out. And I have to focus on the main purpose…keep on trying.
I wish I could ride that horse again. But like most of the heroin users, I´ll try, in vain, my whole life.
We are always looking forward for that feeling, the first time we ride the white horse. Mine is not necessarily heroin. But the ride is never the same. We wait for that sensation, that thing that we cannot control.
I feel like a junkie sometimes. [the junkie of the heart] and I wonder if I would be that free again.
Probably not. I´m not that free inside of myself. I´ve changed. But all the people have changed. We are suppose to change, aren´t we?
Things I wanted then I don´t want now, but I´m not quite sure about the things I want.
I want to connect to myself. And understand myself. Be myself. Even though I don´t know what is to be myself.
Meaning is something that is hard to find sometimes. Most of the times. And I wish I could find someone who could understand that. Who could be me. I wish I found myself one day on the street. I want to talk to myself.
It´s, in fact, so easy for me to lose interest. How I wish I could be in peace all the time. But sometimes my thoughts are much stronger than me. And my words are as heavy as stone.
It becomes difficult to breath, in and out. And I have to focus on the main purpose…keep on trying.
I wish I could ride that horse again. But like most of the heroin users, I´ll try, in vain, my whole life.
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