It’s decided. I like my room. The four walls that keep me away from what I do not want to see, whose faces I see not the point of seeing. I lay in bed, typing as I do, all the time on mails, on articles and on other forms of communication. But avoiding face-to-face encounters with whom I will have to entertain into conversations. Wondering the point of venturing of outside, meeting those superficial souls who seem not to get me, whom I probably would not see again ever, of whose names I would not remember, I type.
I love my solace, that solitary existence. I love the oblivion where no one else is in existence. I love that little bubble where I believe life could be better. And for this moment it is a bit better.