You are always reading and I want to ask you: ‘Do you feel, sometimes, only sometimes, that reality is a burden?’ ‘Do you feel the urge to just lose yourself between black-inked thoughts?’

I am very curious about what hides behind your sparkling eyes when you see a book. Do you hope to drown yourself in words, ย forgetting the real thirst?

You flinch easily, you throw a hunted look behind, you smile, sometimes laugh without a reason and I can see myself in your blue eyes. I do that too, this is why I want to ask you.

Is it easy to turn your back on reality? Is it that easy to forget about the annoying, yet pleasing, sound of living?ย 

You sometimes do that. You fall into an oblivion where no one can find you because you found yourself. Do I want to catch you or fall with you?

You are a puzzle, and I am sure it’s irrelevant trying to figure you out. Some pieces are missing, some are borrowed, some change every day. You were never meant to be a perfect whole.

I can see your messy hair, the bags under your eyes and I want to ask you. ‘Did you waste your time overthinking or just wandering around that oblivion, searching for indulgence in someone else’s thoughts?’ย 

It’s as simple as that. We’re real people, in real times. You are real, I am real, but not quite.

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