From the Wounded.

Life doesn't stop? It should, so tired, bored or hurt people could just stop, press pause and wait for life to get at least a bit interesting to go on. Alright, maybe life shouldn't stop, but maybe people shouldn't expect too much from the wounded. If life could stop, maybe I would've been some of the people who chose to wait, but that was not an option, so what I did was to keep going on being cautios to gather my pieces in the ground all the times they fell. And in the process of reintegrating the pieces to the me-in-pieces I would reallocate them so they would be arranged like those of anyone else's. Some people call this search for the identity, some say it's just something people do to get attetion, truth is this keeps people distant from me, it's my best... only defense. And as it gets the people who can't stop, not even when they are hurt, not even to get hurt, far away from me it also attracts other people with the pieces arranged like anyone else's. I feel attracted by the unusual arrangement of pieces. And this people most likely won't obligate you to never abide to your appointments, they won't have you running in the rythm of the world, they treat your wounds, those which you beared for all your life and thought would still be aching when the last ones would be fresh, for it seems the world is always ready to hurt you. These persons doesn't even seem to be persons, they seem to be something entirely better. So I get confused and I come to think that this is all that which I despite, I start to think that this bound we share is some kind of freaking appointment, that only because I may need these people anytime, they will be available at anytime, I forget that they don't run in my rythm. Some people arrange their pieces in such a beautiful way that I almost forget what made them like that, beautiful pieces of a tragedy. Here I am expecting just too much from the wounded.