Hello there, this one post is for you. 🙂
Do not let your eyes and the rumors deceive you, we all have our story, we all have that one mistake that we wish we never did, but are still thankful because we did it. I can’t compel you to like me nor to stop that whining inside your head. Do what you want to do, as you please. But always remember that If I’m not perfect, you aren’t either.
First, you will never understand me, because you will never understand my pain. You will never understand how it’s like to grow up in my shoes, and how I have been waiting all my life for someone whose surname I didn’t want to carry anymore. You will never understand how it’s like to be alone at night as you hear zillion voices in your head, and you will never understand how to listen to their screams and cry because you realized that you can’t do anything for it to stop and you have to be brave enough not to get your father’s gun.
Secondly, you will never understand me because you will never understand my little joys. You will never understand how it’s like to get drunk at midnight and find yourself sleeping inside an abandoned car with your friends and wait for the sunrise. You will never understand the late night talks and smokes, and how it all takes me off the edge. You will never understand my yearning to meet interesting people and ask them about their art, their tattoos, what their favorite book is, and the euphoria of simply going against the grain. You will never understand me and the people around me because we are real. They might have inks imprinted on their body but I assure you that they are real, at least, more real than you. And I will never give them up for your acceptance.
Lastly, you will never understand me because I am happy on my own. I am living my life the way I have always wanted to live it. And 45 years from now, when all we are are gray hairs, wrinkles, and arthritis, I will gather all my grandchildren by the bonfire on the beach and tell them all of my real adventures.
And someday, if the artists of the next generation will paint our lives, yours will be composed of dots, lines, curves and swirls in a wide, white piece of paper. While mine will never be painted. Because all the artist will go mad when they see how colorful and alive my life is.