I’m sick, ill or whatever. With my soul.
Just finished the last lab at the college on this day; run to my apartment, taking my luggage and gone to the train station.
North, I’m coming.
Such a cold night, no one here to wait that midnight train. Alone. Purely alone.
All that I find useful to do is playing with my breath in the air. Like an old child… Playing with this healthy smoke.
Everything is staring good. I am acting like a personage from any of Emil Bacovia’s poems.
Solitude. Pure solitude.
Don’t ask me what I’m doing here. This is just a good way of feeding my ego. My good thoughts, positive ones, and all that I have.
This time I’ll learn how to feed myself without tasting the reality.