Circling

How am I going to start my purple notebook, when I am still circling around the beach…dipping my feet into the cold ocean, mixing my tears with the hot sand, looking at the people around me as if they were my shadows? Just walking around the shore. Refusing to retreat in my room and to start packing, to start ordering my life. Everything else it’s better than packing. Sitting on the sand, eating, cooking, computering, drinking, meeting, crying…everything! I am scared of the last sunset. I am scared that I might cry there in the middle of nowhere. I don’t show it. I never am..never will..never get used to showing any sign of weakness. I just stay in the darkness of my resting . Could it be strange that I have no power for the purple notebook. When am I actually going to start it, to write any unimportant deed, any scarce event, any other form of spoken phrases, written words. I might have lost the words and with them the sense of time, of a passing, of another sunset. My last sunset…

Circling…round and round without any particular point, without any hope of life or hope of dream. It turns round…the beach, the ocean, the sun….the entire world. I wish it was flat. A flat place with a beginning and an end, just to know where I am coming from and where I am heading to. Till then…I leave now steps on the sand. I am going to pack…the sun has just set!