The Escapist.

I wonder about a lot of things. About us, about them. Sometimes I wonder so much it's hard to perceive the difference between reality and imagination, my world from the real one. Is it wrong to be an escapist? Escape from the things you've done, the lies you've told, the secrets you've kept. How long do you continue before facing any consequences? I actually started beleiving in the loss of conscience. I was wrong. When your guilt finally overcomes your selfishness the soul feels heavy and the being even heavier.

I am here, writing this, what for? The answer is simple, the ability to understand it anything but. You can also escape, just stay a little ahead of the truth. But once it starts catching up, the conscience seems to reappear. We do so many things without understanding, without thinking, without facing them.

How do I justify my existence? I was born, it's my parents fault. I have no other defense. A long time ago I used to believe that good things always happen to good people. Maybe I need to wonder hard enough. Face the past, you say. Then let it go. It was a long time ago. You say it cause you don't know me. You say it cause you don't know what I run from. I can face it all, but not now, not today. I am an escapist.