The last post was one of those post that had me thinking I should just shut the fuck up.
Gave in to the fiction again. The last photo said it all. I said regular existence on a Sunday evening Regular? Existence? Could there be differences between a regular existence and a special existence? I am breathing the same air as everyone does. The same air that keeps us all alive. If it got cut off we all stopped existing in an instance, dropped like flies. Clubbing beauties and the bore kids waiting outside the shopping mall, the guy that drives that expensive car park right next to my beat up old junk heap in the mall. If the air got cut off, we all stopped our existence in the same instance. The definition of special and regular stops there when we stop breathing.
I don’t want to wake up another morning dreading the day. I don’t want to forget the feeling of how good it is to have another day ahead, explore new possibilities, taste new food, smile at another person or have another shot at making right past wrong. Come on me, stop beating myself up. Take a breath and be here now. Probably the person that need the biggest smile is the person I am looking at in the mirror. Baby, take a long deep breath and put a smile on that glum face. It is good to be alive, right here, right now.