quinta-feira, 1 de agosto de 2013
Life is a risk you take daily. You may fall often. You can either get up and dust yourself off, or you may never upheave again. It's a bumpy path and nobody gives a tiny rat's ass about the path you should go through. You just have to drive and never look back. Sometimes moving forward means backwards, too. And that's certainly not easy to do. I myself try to stay put more often than not, but things keep moving, no matter where we go. And they move fast. Time never stops for us to mourn or bitch about how harsh life is on us. We must grouse on the inside and don't give a fuck on the outside. Maybe, what we call "life" is merely a stage where you act out who you would like to be, but, suddenly, you miss some lines and get out of character; when it happens, who are the ones who leave the room before the end of the play?