charlote cardin – drive
that’s the fashion high of this year.
in everything you do, imply, represent, you have to (without a doubt) be relatable.
that’s the stupid word for empathy.
but in stupid words talking, this is the letter of my imaginary readers.
i never gave up writing, i just lost my courage.
i missed being on blog, it was a nice part of my life that i will welcome back someday.
it’s the most complex hour of a day because i have to be aware of the right title, the right attitude, the right music in my ears, the right photo from pinterest. all the things i have to give you the message that you can relate with.
i hope someday i will have the wisdom to write a book, not as a revenge as my 19 years old ex would say, or a history one, not even a sexy book as i used to love.
a book, that you could relate to/with.
because this is what matters nowadays, we continuously seek for pictures that makes us feel real, comfortable in our skin, we got tired of perfect lives, we want that rough, icky life to feel good about ourselves.
we all have that time of our life when we pushed the button pause of what we really want to do, it consumed so much till it lacked the air from our minds.
we chose to procrastinate instead.
i miss that part of my life, white nights full of creativity. music, movies, art, books, writing. gladly contemplating about the surrounding drama.
i cut off the strings, i just never did want to replay them. those nights remind me of my voice, my courageous attiDUDE, i never really cared about my looks, i never cared of what i was seeing in the mirror, i felt relatable of what i was writing, somewhere, somehow i was true to myself, and that’s precious as the ring of Gollum. i felt good about my ass, my cheeks, my asymmetric eyes, big nose. i even didn’t care that i didn’t love myself, i felt good.
now, the drama lama is coming back as those instant photos, locked up somewhere in those boxes full of dust and suffer. when you find them it puts just a smirk on your face, a little tremble and a tear at the corner of your eye.
it last just enough when you realize that you are gonna sneeze from that much dust.
it’s presence of the past we are nostalgic about.
and this blog, i find it precious because it’s old like for 6 years.
6 years of letters to people, a subtle way of my thoughts just enough to understand the intensity of my feelings.
those who read, knew. those who didn’t, faked it.
i don’t feel relatable anymore with what this blog now represents, these harmful thoughts of cigarettes, coffee, suicide, lack of living, toxic drama. i wrote to you just enough as i want it, but never the whole truth.
i had my fair share with all.
i had experiences that tore me apart, full of shame, hate, worthless, consuming pieces of shit who made me doubt my existence.
from all those crushes born in the spring, remains just the one who i felt the warmest in this almighty winter.
for all my past, for all my articles, for my way of being and living, i will never, ever apologize, not anymore, not ever.
and maybe, there will be no more cafea fumata, no stockholm syndrome, no drama, just relatable springs, funny and awkward stories as i the way i am now.
be relatable to yourself, not anyone else.