Today I woke up and I realized I had a dream in the last hour. An owl tryed to attact me and so I used my quilt to protect me. Yeap, not kidding. That’s how my morning started.
Problems come to me.
I like writing, I don’t know why. I think I can put all my crazynest in some beautiful lines and feel more free about who I am.
What defines you? I heard today.
And I’m trying to find the answer.
I went all my life to therapists (psycological) and I never could find a definition of how I was, or how I am.
Sometimes is really hard to find yourself in big cities, as Buenos Aires, the one I live.
We came here in this life to find something we don’t know. And that’s confuse me a little.
Cause I’m all the time doubting if I am in the right way or not.
When I write everything in my mind gets in order. Also when I sing. I really can say I am in the right way.
He says I’m a person who has a big heart. And maybe that could be my definition.
So, is really important what the others think about ourselves? Or is more important how we think about us.
I’m all the time thinking about how lucky I am to find you. Because maybe, you also define me a little bit of me.