An entry in my Journal seemed like ingredient for a poem: So...
Finally waking up from a couple of days of bizarre
depression.
Fear actually..
Fearful depression. I suspect
I’ll never know who I am,
no how to behave.
Worrying about it is futile, it is and always will be...
Today in Literature I witness the fading of certain illusions.
The realities
in my fantasies
sometimes come into focus and it came rather closer in
the case
of one of my little dreams. In
any case,
that little dream has faded and
I’m feeling much better and
the two are completely
unrelated.
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ibaconi 