I could immediately smell it. The rank, foul odour was everywhere. I had come to expect it by now, though. It covers the world like a thick sheet. It's like it's always been there, pestering, disgusting, everywhere. It hasn't always been like this, but I remember nothing else. My nose forced another breath of the rancid fumes into my struggling lungs and it bit and teared at my insides. It was much like drowning in filth. I was raised next to one of the furnaces who's chimneys bellowed the noxious smoke into the world. Were it not for my loving parents, I would have succumbed to the horror in which others live; blissfully oblivious. And I inhale.
The smell of the trees filled me with bliss. Never had a cold spring evening felt so glorious, since the last time I left my house after 9PM. Natures scent was a violent embrace, strangling me with its spiked tentacles. It was as if I had fallen in love with the moment itself, but hurt infinitely inside me, as I knew moments always come to an end. It was sheer pleasure and perfection; for some few fleeting scenic seconds, existence was wondrous.
There was a program about Russian ballet on TV. Old dancers. I don't know. It's like, every old person on the street has a life story. I want to be one of the ones who has nothing important to tell.
You don't know life and want to be set free.
So someone came to you two years ago. So someone explained the world to you. Someone left you something. They said you were important. They said you'd never see them again, but they were trying to scare you. Don't worry. Someone always comes back.
My net keeps screwing me over. We're in this difficult period and I blame my self mostly.
It never lets me online. And when it does, from time to time, it goes real slow to the point of nothing happening.
I survive though, I have this cable that connects me directly. But I prefer my real net to it, any day.