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Getting up from bed…
Going to work…
Putting myself to sleep…
Dreaming and then waking up…

Then assuring myself that i was doing just fine.

Spent my youth watching fairytales_ big frocks of princesses.

What was the point? There I stood in the city after all those years, fighting practical problems with my days and nights bound by the tick of the clock. Everytime I explained to myself that dreams were merely illusions, another prince incognito would come up. Everytime I would take the new chance and ready my luggage to spend my life in a palace of laughters. And dream till I choke. Then watch them break.

What was the real standard of happiness? I forgot. Love? If happiness came with love, why love brought tears? And hurt.

I wouldn’t suggest love anymore. its projected paints of beauty makes men blind (more women). We grow up starting from stories. ‘once upon a time there was a king…’ There our baby eyes widespread into big balls in wonders and charms. Mommys are gone but our fragile arms keep the stories saved in our hugs and our sleep dreams them. Keep dreaming. Who wants to disbelieve in love at that incircinated stage? The process of love at first sight to the title of anti love oldies is the age stricken development of those dreamy eyes. Those bitter inconvenient stone-hearts are mostly the same over grown children whose love stories first cloud in their senses, rain in their eyes and eventually decompose their dream-made philosophies. Pity that the reality comes later and illusions come first. Bullets come later and giggles come first.

At the end of the whole drama, silence simply unveils the victims and under the covers there is an unwilling shift in concepts. From love to deals; deals to business and lastly we sing the orchestra of handmade balance. Fools. Starting from illusions and ending on illusions. Where is the balance? Balance goes out right where the first love fails. Funny confusions. We walk with them and take them to graves. But never forgetting to assuring ourselves that of course we are moving just fine.

Standing among us, I wonder if I am being tricked by my woven fairytales, over and over drowned in vain. Learning my lessons, love is an addiction, love brings pain.

But it is okay.

Will try again.

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