I have troubles with joy. It's true. At times, I feel like a flame from a fire that went down; striving to stay, to play, to run, before I fade into air.
I turn my back on the bright sky when it seems like a background. It's only human. This same sky is a canvas for war in other places. These stars are only clear and shiny for the fortunate.
I climbed branches on trees to see the world, but ended up looking at my shadow on the ground. That's my story. I saw musicians, philosophers and lovers. They were my teachers in beauty, uncertainty and sin. They taught me to open my eyes and get lost. But I still try to convince my self that I'm better each night, and each morning, I forgive my doubts.
I know someday I will betray my fittle heart. I'll find myself, but not for myself, and I'll build a home.