-Who said apathy is wrong, and passions are right? Who said that?
Why the hell do your little ugly problems and your little troubles with yourself matter? They are not even a scratch to compare to the scars in the body of all humanity, why do they matter?
*Sick, I'm sick of hearing all the little silly chit chat about absolute nothingness, as much as it hurts to walk down a street alone, as much as it's a relief. I will breathe, and I will know that I will now let out all my spite, and try to live again, and sense again after being exposed to all the shallowness. I insist, I will see my coffee before I smell it. I will smell my coffee before touch it, I will touch my coffee before I taste it.
-You and your stupid faith in so many beautiful things. Things are beautiful until they start talking. I have always thought that. People are beautiful until they start talking. They they expose how ugly, how immersed they are in their little worlds and their little things. How they have no feeling of energy within them, how they pretend and pretend. How they think they are great, the greatest. And you know it, you just want to slap someone each time they something abolutely pointless. How you want to slap someone when they cant understand that the best 10 minutes of your day are when you're alone in the morning, drinking your coffee and smoking your morning cigarette in the sun.
*I walk and my face is always down, first I was not thinking, I just didnt want to see people/people to see my face. Then, I forgot about them, and I could walk for minutes without realizing that I am now in the other building. I wander and I dream. I laugh and I cry. I am in my own world, too. Why do I blame people for being too immersed in their own problems and not being able to feel the sun rays in the morning and imagine themselves a newborn baby?
-You got too used to them around you, now you are giving hem excuses to be the one-track minds they are. You are giving them an excuse to forget all the sadness there is every single step you take in the street downtown, all the happiness there is every single step you walk downtown and all the life there is every singly step you walk downtown.
*-Not everyone's a stranger. Some of them turn out to be, some of them don't. The strangers are the ones who never hurt you, it's the ones that embrace you that do. How could a man whose passions only rise after his mind has fog hurt you? He can't hurt you, he's a stranger. He never slept in your mind, he never slipped through your fingers. How could a man whose life exists to do, and undo ever hurt you? He's also a stranger. His heart never beats by your rhythem. They don't understand much of your common sense. The one who hurt you was the actor on his stage. Why? Because he was hurt and he did not know why. He realized he was not a stranger, he realized how much time he had spent looking throught the mirror and into his own eyes wondering whether or not it's his reflection. And he held your in his arms, but, you were stabbed by the same blade that lived between his ribs.
And still you wonder why you cry randomly in the middle of a happy movie, or when you see a McDonald's ad?
