Lying on the floor, I was staring at the white ceiling in a quiet sunday morning. Combined with the white walls, they give me the feeling of being constrained in a prison cell locked on my own thoughts. The floor was cold, no traces of warmth other than the part where I was lying. A proof that (1) no one has (ever) been here since and (2) I haven't move even a bit for my heat to radiate across the room.
And I tried to remember the last time I went down on the floor and wonder. Of the things I've been through and the people who played some part on this journey. Of the lessons I've learned, the smiles I've given and the mistakes I've made.
It seems so much change have happened since. I barely recognize myself by the way I deal with situations and atrocities presented in front of me. I've left the attitude of determining the white and black of things. I've been doing bad things because they make you feel good, and realized that doing some good things make you feel bad.
I have opened myself to anyone, but never let a finger touch me within. I was like a heart filled with laughter, but my soul was rotting like an oxidized autumn leaf. I held on to that beauty and purity too high and now they're crumbling down for the life choices I've made. I listened to my will to do things I want no matter how bad or good the consequences may be.
And now I have woken my senses up to free myself with the self-induced euphoria. I have to stand up and break myself out from the prison of my conscience. Act on what needs to be done even though sacrificing own happiness is a prerequisite to turn things around.
Still I wonder..
If doing the right things causes pain and a broken-heart, do you still consider the act good?
Labels: heart, life, self