"Life is certainly the equivalent of Fiction"
Once said the man who resided inside the book.
Have you ever felt like the world is a little too much to take? I can sympathise with you all who came to the conclusion i sometimes forget.
A person i knew died, and i kind felt sorry for him, i kept saying to myself that i shouldn't be an hypocrite and go around crying, since i didn't even considered him a close friend of mine when he was living, however, he was by my side with my friends when i used to live "there" with most of them.
They don't really know how he died, they say it was an accident and the gun shot him in the head while he was taking it out of his bag, others say he killed himself, either way, it must be tough to leave this world so young.
Today i got myself denying his death, remembering the times he was there, being trouble, running around, making me worried about him, just like to any other friend of mine, it's not so sad for me to see them leaving, but it is an annoying game to not forget his memory, yet, to not feel disapointed for his depart.
Of the things i think now, one of them is that life is pretty long, until the day it turns out short at death's fault, i should have called him a friend while i could, treated him like one, and i had the chance all along to try it by myself, irony? No, fate perhaps, life teaches us in the most unusual ways to be better individuals, and we deny it most of the time, at least i hope he's better up there, than he were in here, after all, this life is nothing but a learning process, and in the end, everything that comes from the ground is taken back to ground.
I don't want to sound changed, since changes take time to happen, but i'll be taking note that i should value more the people that show up around me, their ways, and every little memory with them, to not see them leaving, without saying goodbye.
I finish this post, with a poem i made.
A Poor Man's Fairy Tale.
Welcome to the world we live in,
sadly this is the rotten reality,
thought i personaly preffer to dream.
This is the poor man's fairy tale,
the dance of decay,
another step towards the abyss.
Picking rotten apples,
who fell long ago from their trees.
Little do they know,
that the apples are just the same as them,
all worthless, wormy, and putrid with shame.