Somewhere out there – I must presume – someone is living my life, the one I would have lived. The one where things worked out for them, in a way that they had hoped for. I guess it would have started before they were born. Parents would have got it right; things would have been done that needed doing to produce the correct results.
Always I feel as though I am waiting for my life to start. The few times this was not the case was either when I was travelling, or when I had fallen down the strange and dark tunnel of love. Besides these times, it’s just a waiting game, perforated occasionally by something that holds my interest for a short while. Like this lifetime is just a burner, a throw away. A burner life, that’s make me laugh.
Days pass by, though for the most part they are just the same as the ones that came before. Probably – or maybe – because I live alone. Nothing really changes. One could say level or flat, or possibly just boring. Could be a sign of man, a sign that we have peaked. The realisation that the fairy book was not true at all, and that life is basically a struggle and then you die. Maybe just a sign of this man, or maybe not sign at all. Just another day.