Who am I?

What is it that makes me me?

Is it a pile of habits, words that comes out of my mouth?

Maybe actions I’m making?

Am I just a machine who runs on blood and food instead of electricity and fuel?

Is my consciousness something what matters?

Why am I here, and why am I searching all those answers, when easier is to stay quiet and do what they told me to do…

Why am I here torturing myself trying to struggle… Not to live, but to struggle…

Are we all born the same? Or there are differences that makes others successful and me… The way I am… ??

 

Every time I close my eyes, same questions pops out, always the same…

It is just between the thoughts when I can get rest…

Between them in a fracture of a second I feel the blessing from everywhere, bliss and clarity…

That fraction of a second is freedom, and happiness.

Warmth in body spreading, and making me whole, making me superhuman…

Too bad it doesn’t last for a longer, because I would be living there…

And just as it passes away, I say once more, for the last time, like always,

I will make it this time… I will give peace to myself, and let go of all that defined me…

But the circus is still in the town, and the truth just took a free time…

 

It looks like I’m not meant to be a superhuman… Just another average human, struggling to survive and waiting to rest…

Just like many others… Many, many others.