Sometimes i just hate myself, for providing with such an understanding and healthy enviroment that my art can’t thrive.
Sometimes i just hate myself for being such an adult and actually trying to work trough my issues, instead just putting them in a glass jar for the world to see or hear it.
Sometimes i hate myself over healthy things, because i know that’s the way how i am supposed to work, but i don’t want to.
I want my chaos, the fire back.
My inspiration, all my writings, the music which felt the most natural thing to bottle up emotions in.
And now, i am sitting here with a full heart, clean mind, stable feelings, and suddenly, i long for the comfort of chaos.
Not because that’s what i knew, but because chaos meant that i can create something beautiful out of scratch.
That i can make something, which can’t be done once again, and it’s uniquely mine.
Chaos and fire is not everything, but it’s elemental, and we need it 90% of the times.
We never realize that, until we lose the capability to create something out of nothing.
I feel lighter, yet it’s not comfortable.
I don’t think humans should be this light.
Almost like a floating state.
Nothing too heavy to worry about, yet longing for it so desperately that we grab every chance we can to have that feeling again.
Yet here we stand, almost grown up, fueled by peace and still feel uncomfortable.
And that’s the most excrusiating feeling of all.
