On my own

I am sitting on a black removable chair, here, feeling so uncomfortable but do not know what is really happening. I have been trying to express what I really feel inside. I played music, I made some phone calls to my friend, I tried to write over and over, but they'd never come in to one piece of writing. Either talk to hem did not give me any answer.

For a while, I am feeling so lonely.

It's like you're driving a car. A new Volkswagen ones. With bright colour. Awsome! But the car is stopping now. And you are looking at the side-mirror, watching the road you went through. The path you checkered. The glory you won. The stupidity you made. The blooming roses you watered. The chances you missed. The laugh you gave. The tears you shared. The bound you create.

... feels like it's been years ago.

And suddenly I look at the road right in front of me.

I could imagine perfectly a time of night, when I was told that it is so different between an aim and a dream.

I miss my dreams.
I miss my dreams!

Then suddenly I realise I have turned all my dreams into aims. Most of them. Deep inside I feel those grumbled things crowd every single corner of my soul.

And still I am in my fabulous car that is still stopping now. Trying to close my eyes and feel I was really there, walking through a full of fallen leaves road and kicking them once or twice. It is autum and winter is coming soon.