Eu comecei a escrever porque gostava. Eu me sentia mal, escrevia, e passava a me sentir bem, era assim. Eu não sabia das coisas até me dar conta que eu, de fato, sabia. Era um exercício de autoconhecimento.
Quando criei esta conta no tumblr, há uns 2 anos, eu escolhi o nome “the pride factory”. A fábrica de orgulho. Orgulho que teria de tudo que eu colocasse aqui. Imagens e textos diversos, tudo o que se passava pela minha cabeça. Tudo seria nada mais, nada menos, que orgulho. Orgulho que não sinto mais, e que não será levado a diante.
Vou explicar. De repente me vi desiludido e percebi que nunca fui bom no que eu aparentemente fazia de melhor. Talvez mediocre. E isso nunca vai ser o suficiente.
What the FUCK is wrong with me? I have no idea. I don’t know why it happens all the time. Am I not enough on what? What’s the reason for that failing routine? What should I do? What should I have done? Who should I be besides me? This is just so frustrating… I can’t stand this lack of luck anymore. Bullshit. If life’s pretty good, there’s something wrong. I could feel the cold rain before the storm. Hell, I tried to avoid it. I really did. And I thought to myself “no hard feelings, dude, calm down, easy there”. Fuck my imagination. Fuck my sense of hope. Fuck it. Seriously… why? Hahaha it was perfect in my head! PERFECT. There’s no fucking perfection in this world. There’s no fate. There’s only point of view and disappoiments. ‘Cause that’s what life’s made of. At least is mine.
…it all became so powerful, so clear. Feels good. The new cycle began better than I could expect.
You know… I blew out the candles in my indian birthday cake. And then I asked for it. And then I sat here. And…
Time goes by fast these days, what they always say is real. You know, things change, and sometimes it changes really fast. Look around, everything is happening, everything is about to change someway, someday. You won’t be able to live this day again.
