I am not sure what I am thinking. Words just form and in 98% of cases they shuffle together to create grammatically correct sentences. Sometimes I let something hang there. Sometimes I let others finish the thought to their liking. I get the feeling that even when I share details about my life that some would consider too intimate, I do not create a feeling of a mutual connection or a shared experience in others. Although the words are direct, honest, and crude, I remain private, uncovered, and aloof. I seek thrill and falling in love moments, but I live inside a carefully constructed shell.
Walking though Prague and breathing in the cold air gives me only a superficial experience. Whatever is behind those cobbled streets and mute passersby is carried on with them and not for once do I want to stop and contemplate it. Analyzing words and meaningful looks used to come easy and now it is too much to ask. Wanting to connect or to be understood used to be the aim and now it is just whatever. I no longer live in moments that are pregnant with meaning, I simply live wherever the river takes me. To others I always appear like the one with a secret map who is able to navigate this ours today’s world but it cannot be further away from the truth – that I am simply good at connecting scattered words, disperse emotions, and useless facts into a story that is not unkind and not too hard to believe.