Follow more of my frequent thought processes here :)
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We’re all running from something. If not yet, one day you will start to. I’ve come to question if living is to run? To hide? To escape? If not our guilts, mistakes, pain or misery, but to escape our bodies? Because our physical being really does not correspond so well with our soul anyway ? Even our hands refuse to sit idle . We’re always somewhere else. After something else.

Sometimes you just want to escape your truth. So you bury yourself into a character from a novel. You forcibly morph your story with theirs hoping for at least a destined end if not a jubilant one. An end which you can feel with the softness of your fingertips. The one where your pain is often understood and empathized with by the reader. The one that you can keep on re-reading, reliving.

After the chapter comes to an end, your world shakes a little regardless of the direction of the end. But rather because you've kind of lost your reflection. Suddenly a little part of yourself ends with the last page. The escape you held onto so tight crashes with your reality. With your truth. The shadow lurks in. embracing you with all its darkness. And perhaps it will never sail off until you build your own boat.

You’re always escaping from something, someone. You seek refuge in books, movies, music, poetry, anything that can test or twist time. You desperately relate to people and their emotions in every form. Because somewhere along those emotions, there's something that feels home to you. Your pain, longing or loneliness eases in the comfort of someone’s words. In someone’s music. Or in someone's truth.

After all the chasing, running or escaping, where exactly do you go? In Between these hidings, you are bound to catch a mirror of your truth. Even your own shadow will hold that mirror for you. So tell me, how long are you going to run for ? How long are you going to seek an escape? How long are you going to chase beginnings with an empty end?


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