When others are move out in order to work, my case is the opposite: I work in order to move out.
A drastic life comes by a single call, then I packed all my belongings and aimlessly wandered. Not a totally aimeless, though, but still…
It still fresh in my mind: those confusion and anxiety. I’ve always convinced myself that I born with this steel armor attached all over my body, like a legend warrior. So that I could even walk in fire if I want.
But that time was different. A drastic changes completely decayed my armor, left me naked and vulnerable.
And I slowly gathered up everything. Gathered those armor that I’ve always been took pride of, and glued them back with a sort of adaptability and strength that I’ve also took pride of.
Power, a complete and almighty one, maybe my main purpose. The feel of being able to take control of your own life is unbeatable, it reflect a pure strength. And that’s maybe the thing I’ve been looking for.
But sadly, if I thinking about it, from another side of the perspective, gaining power is not my mere motive. I moved out myself in order to runaway. Which, ironically, contradict the whole thing.
I’ve told ya’ I’m merely a humbag contains thousands opposite traits and thoughts, I’ve told ya’.
But, hey, aren’t we all a bunch of pilgrims who runaway from a particular things in life? Am I have to beg forgiveness? It’s not a sin, isn’t?
I don’t know.
Runaway is for a coward. Stay and fight is the only way for those valiant hearts. Maybe I’m not as brave and daring as I always think I am.
Are we lose?
Are we lost?
Or are we just understand our limits too well?
Right after the farewell was bid, the door of another hardness is opened.
Welcome to the wonderland, babe. We’re not mad here. We’re just…insanely struggling. To breath, to life, to eat, to love, to do everything.