the lonely boy
I am sat here in this little room in East London staring at the blank walls with the blank mind. I remember when all of this was what I wanted. But then I sat at home and stared at the blank walls far far away from London. I dreamed big maybe because I was young, or naive, or eager. Eager to do things. Eager to stand by my choice. And most importantly eager to go for it no matter what.
I know it’s only a phase and I know I’ll be over it soon but it hurts. It terribly hurts to admit that I’m doubting myself in this little room in East London of which I dreamt when I was younger. It hurts that I am getting tired to get up and do things for one or another reason. And it really hurts that dreams do not come true as simply as I have imagined them to do.
And so I thought I need a place to express my own feelings other than speaking to myself…