I found a treasure in my room that other day. Hidden between my books was a little black book I got as my 20th birthday present. I remember the day I got it, I remember full details of the day. The people I was with, the streets we roamed and more precisely the kind of feelings floating in between us.
Had anyone told me where each of the 5 people who were there on that day would be now, I wouldn't have believed it in a million years.
Leaving out all of the details of how these people have changed and grown in different directions (as this is very boring and uninteresting), I would like to talk about the black book in itself.
It was a full documentation of many things in my life and many things I was going through but most importantly, it kept record of all the flings/relationships/temptations/rebounds/misleading crap from my 20th year up to my 22nd. Tarrraaaa.... As my doctor friend would refer to these kind of things I quote "Funny shit".
It is amazing how history repeats itself in anyway it can. It needs to fulfill itself, to settle its accounts and then goes away to find the next victim.
To me, the amount of things that karma still has something to say to me about are plenty to be honest. I have done some pretty not-so-awesome things to people at different occasions.
Writing on that specific book had to end as its pages were all finished and soaked up in all the colours ink is manufactured with, the appearance of the latest ex of mine and the birth of this blog.
I have a new beautiful black book now. It was also a present that I got on Christmas. It will get to witness extraordinary things, I am sure, and it will contribute to my writing skills, record of events and reflections.
Thank you, you.
puzzle pieces, juvenile analysis, lots of fooling around and making sense out of it all.
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