Life is really Strange.
Because there are sometimes in your life where you get to understand that nothing will be the same anymore.
Because no matter how you decided to live, the way you focused your life, or the road you choose to walk, someday you will realize that any of it matters.
Terrified, you’ll contemplate the crossroads in front of you, and for the first time as never before, you’ll feel your legs shaking. An irascible nonconformity begins to delete your convictions and you gradually understand that everything you has, everthing you believe to know in your life doesn’t mean absolutely nothing to you.
Every effort you tried to proyect; dreams or ilussions were nothing more than a house of cards shakily built in the vain belief that you really knew where you were going. Because all of us are afraid to confess we’re lost, that our Life is Strange and we don’t know how to live it.
I’m seeing myself, but I don’t know who I am; like a flower that has lost each of its petals knowing that this Autumn will not end. The feeling to have my eyes open to a different world grieves me, and I must admit that grips my nerves, making me feel as fragile as a dry stalk into a persistent wind. For the first time, I feel completely naked, vulnerable to the uncertain gaze of my own existence. Without a purpose beyond the attempt to understand why I’m here, why I feel this way…
Perhaps I never could understand why now I am sure my life is different, but what frightens me the most, is the feeling of insecurity that haunts me… making me feel as if I even care about living, about his meaning. I would be able to close my eyes and let my mind completely empty; I would be able to stop thinking for a moment …
Life is Strange. You can be sure about who you are, and surprise yourself opening your eyes in the middle of the night assuming the complete unknown in which you have become. Maybe because of it, I feel no longer scared to admit the fear I feel for the first time in my life. Fear of losing the little lights of mine. The small pieces what left of myself in this storm of destruction that roams around; vanishing the remains of my well-ordered mind. Fear of disappearing without I even care; afraid to continue living without feeling alive again.
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