Another day has passed and unlike any other day. I was outside but like any other day. I felt alone. Even when I’m not in my surroundings I’m feeling this way. I guess I’m so use to feeling this way that now it doesn’t matter where I am. I spent most of my day at a coffee shop having some irish coffee and reading a book. No one dared to bothered me and I didn’t bother anyone. Reading that novel got me thinking about something. Everything we do takes a piece of us and gives us a piece of them. And, with or without our intentions, becomes part of our lives. I wonder which part of me is my own now. I wonder what’s original about me or anyone else for that matter. Piece by piece we turn into who we are and there are so many pieces.. all of them belonging to separate time frames in my life or some person who was part of that time.
If this is in anyway true then where do I stand? In a reality that shouldn’t be real? Or a dream that is impossible…??