I used to tell myself that things in life always happen for a reason, and for a long time I have been assured believing that.
Until the moment that life throws everything at you — when you start to stumble down and you realize that what has seemed to be the quite right way to go has turned out to be totally the opposite.
I felt safe.
Somewhere deep inside me, my body and heart and mind told me that I was doing okay. I was trying and somehow getting there, but it just wasn’t right.
I got lost.
Life had taken me to that place where I thought I wanted to be, where I thought I belonged, and it felt good. For a moment I became so naive to believe I was finally home, that I had made it, and from that point on everything was going to start being so much easier. In every aspect. In every way.
The road ahead of me was clear and with no bump for me to jump on. I strongly said to myself that love had brought me home. But eventually it just ended up being a lie.
Life was a lie
and love was a lie, and there was no home. There was nothing left. All of that was gone; all had just vanished without a warning. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect him, but just like he came, in an instant, he was also gone. He was life, and love, but since there was no home, he left too.
I guess I was wrong.