Emptiness - formerly called loneliness - grows inside me. It's as if I'm walking in search of a bridge to the other side, bright, full of love, hope, meaning in life… But always when arriving at the destination point, there is no bridge, there is no way to go to the other side. Any and all views of the other extreme are obscured by clouds, or by an autumn rain, morbid and foggy. As much as I seek, the masterly luminosity on that side does not reach me. My heart filled with hopelessness, now it fills with conformity. I believe that a man endowed with sensitivity - even if he is smart enough - will never have peace. For him, everything is a struggle. Struggles to be heard, understood, and respected. I think, almost every day, about giving up everything. Clinging to the feeling of mourning, crying, salivating for more sadness, resenting it, crying some more... Maybe this is sounding too sentimental. Well, it's a discharge, and therefore, it must be sentimental and tragic. Yes, I think about giving up everything. But even as I want it, I still - by some fierce, untamed spirit within me - I want to fight, and fight, and fight... Was that repetitive? Yes. You can only understand the intensity of certain things by repeating them over and over again. But I think so, is the problem me? Should I become a selfless fool, or immerse myself - as many do - into conformity? I'm afraid because I don't have answers. It rains so much in here. Fire lights up, then goes out. Everything here runs through the cycles, reflected, of what goes on outside. So many conflicts, a sharp, sensitive, courageous and frightened heart. I keep walking through contradictions, looking for my New Jerusalem, my brilliant redemption. Dreaming is a gift, but also torture. “Keep hitting, hit more, I want to be flogged - because the more you hit me, the harder my kick will be. Too bad the kick hits itself. How cruel you are, little boy." I want so much to rest… Delight myself with new sounds, new sensations, new dreams. Become new, reborn, freed from the chains that have chained me for so many years. To have freedom is to reach the most distant and brightest star, walk beside it, make it yours, as intimate and real as what our hands can touch. But it's freezing, so cold and lonely - my place.