That feeling of something new, yet somehow familiar, which you explore curiously and happily.
That feeling of having one chance in a long time. The plans you make for that one chance. The disappointment of not fulfilling those plans. The faint, shy smile you put on because you are still grateful you had that chance.
That feeling of being warmly welcomed by almost strangers who, at the end of the day, become the people who made you feel most happy.
The day that starts with a dose of hatred, then washes it with a shower of silliness, and in the evening puts on the warm cloak of peacefulness.
The words you never said. The words you wished you said better and those you regret saying.
The flee from disgust, from wickedness and duplicity to the place you don’t actually belong but feels like home.
The secrets you keep to yourself. The secrets people tell you. The piece of advice that you know you can’t relate to but still give.
The feeling of being appreciated for being wise, calm, cold and rational, while you know that inside you’re a messed up volcano on the brink of eruption.
Stupid outside, broken inside, hopeful at the core.
The feeling of having so little that you can not help but be grateful for yours and the others’. The feeling of beating the dust out of the others when you see they have it all and they’re still not pleased and ignorant about it.
The feeling of having to cope and deal with being the way you are.
The resignation. The hope. The silence.