Bite the Bullet

I am far from home so far it feels that I have none, no place to belong. My kingdom is closing in on me and it feels claustrophobic locked here in my ivory tower gazing hopelessly at the world I live in.

They say sometimes you have to bite the bullet, be something you are not to further interest. For so many years I have fought to get to the next best place and bit so many bullets that my teeth are getting sore.

If I am not biting the bullet I am hoop-jumping and have so much agility that I could easily join a circus or take promenades on a minefield. My hands are no longer shaking, no more anxiety sweats. The honeymoon period in anything lasts for a few years and when it’s gone, it really is gone.

Bet there are million people out there today thinking the exact words they would like to say out aloud, write on a billboard or on the sides of all big buildings. In London, if that was possible, there would be not one square inch of blank space to write. Our infinite thoughts, our disappointments and our questions in big bold letters visible from above the clouds.

So many of us suppressing words, ideas and thoughts that define our core, our soul, our existence.

On rainy days like this I cannot help wonder what is the point, why join this game of vagueness where nobody wins. Where some gather frustration and others are lied to. Worse, they consent to have lied. A game of time loss and emptiness, and such a waste.