One Day.

There are some things in your life that you can't undo. They'll scar your path forever.

These are the moments that teach you the most valuable lesson if you are open enough to take it.

You'll think it over next time a similar situation comes ahead, you'll do everything not to have the same outcome.

I miss you. I miss all of you. Some more than others. It's quite normal.

One far more than the rest and it's quite painful.

My drawer is filled with gifts that I buy for dead relationships. It's like I haven't lost you to life, but to the course of death. In my head it is less painful. I create an illusion.

There's an autographed setlist of a band you like in the drawer. There's a necklace that I wanted to give you at christmas. There's a sketch of the guitar I was making from scratch for you. There's the all band pass with your lucky number on it, to the concert you went with 8000 other people and all I kept searching for in the crowd was you.

I never found you. I guess the illusion is getting real. Too real. 

One day.

Fight is Over

He keeps telling me to fight for you. I explained that I did, but you didn't even want that. That you couldn't stand it. He kept on repeating it.

There is a point where it just is this: I lost my best friend and I don't even know why. Or I tell myself that. Because the reason being her loving someone else and not dedicating time to any other person is beyond my understanding, because it will mean that she has become someone else.

 A lot of people said you changed. And this breaks my heart more than anything. 

Work and love of work

Big things coming your way Beirut! We've been traveling a bit lately, sealing deals here and there.
We haven't had a moment to catch our breath.
Music is on the top of the list to what's gonna hit Beirut so hard this summer. But not only that... Sports is second.

Being a part of this is more satisfaction than anything around.

To The One I Could've Loved

I met you about a year ago.

You're smart. Beautiful. Sweet. What stops you is fear.
We had some problems and it didn't last. And till this day I still think about it, and tell myself, I should've just skipped the problems.

I miss you. A lot. And you kept yourself away because you weren't over me.
I saw you yesterday again. And I realized I was the one who wasn't over you.

I'm letting go. Because you're finally happy and in that place and you don't want me there.

I could've loved you. I wanted to love you. I still do.

"And So It Is..."

This is the point where I change the whole attitude.
This was made private and I used it to vent in a private world of mine.
Old posts aren't here anymore. Some that I wrote in those private months were kept for you to enjoy.
But that is it.
This is the point where I change the whole attitude.

I wake up worried that I overslept because I realize that 24 hours in a day is just not enough.
It's never enough. There is so much to do and I hope I get to do it all before I reach the point where I can't move anymore.

My work is something now that is defining who I am and where I want to get.
Some are satisfied by randomness or simplicity. It wasn't working for me anymore.
I had to reach for the top.
And I did. And it worked.

And now the top isn't just a mere summet of what I could see from below. It's huge. It's huge and vast and empty. There are only few that make it here. Thinking that it is not for everyone. And that's why they make that rule right.

And so it is.

Higher than the clouds.

I have grown up in an environment where I was always pushed to be the best and disappointed.  Academic structures weren't my thing. I always rebelled against them, I always searched for an exit.
My status in them would've been considered successful and satisfying to others, but never enough for my peers. It was seen as laziness. I even believed it and was worried about it being true to the extent that I'll never amount to nothing when grown up.
I was setting my goals pretty low after realizing that I'll always be lazy. Or so I thought.

University wasn't any better when recognition was based on grades and sucking up to the teachers around. Always going to the library to study and learn from the past, from the others that have made it.
It might work for others but it has never inspired me. I can't even recall more than a few names to tell about as reference when I talk about what I do. I have never seen the importance in taking past examples and successes as reference to what I want to achieve.

Outcomes changed when paper projects turned to physical assignments. When talking about someone else's project turned to presenting your own vision. When hearing about legends turned into meeting random achievers.

I have realized that school does not teach you how to meet people. It doesn't teach you how to hold a conversation with a stranger and learn from the unknown  It doesn't teach you to search for what makes you happy apart from the world and tools that you were given. A degree does not make you someone. Studies doesn't make you successful. People around doesn't make you reliable.

Some people have recently asked me where do I get my thirst and drive from. Why do I stay late working. How come I hang out with the same people I work with recently. Why don't I make time to rest.
Broken wings show for broken souls. Broken souls make you search for an escape. An alternative where you will find something you can rely a bit more than people, in my case at least, something that makes you happy and that makes you get up in the morning and stand up until your eyes drop before your feet do. I like what I do. I miss what I lost. I found a shelter in something I wasn't expecting, but I believe has somehow saved me and shown me how much I am capable of. Something that reminded me to stay humble and young and thirsty for knowledge.
Grow an ego and you will not be able to evolve. Stay small and you'll be higher than the clouds.

Day 2

She woke up to realize it's not just another day.
It's one day more that this is still in this state.
The helplessness of the situation gets her down sometimes, but she reminds herself that she has too much work to allow herself to break down.

She looks at the time and gets up, knowing that she doesn't have a second to waste.
She was built on never letting people down. And the people are now work.
Even if she takes too much on her plate sometimes, she gets the job done. She still won't let people down.

After the cold shower she took, she gets dressed ready to walk out the door and interact with the city and constructions around.
She prefers that to actually having conversations and encounters with people.

She decides today that the cafe won't do. Today is a bit different.
So she walks a bit further and gets to the park near the lake.
She picks an empty bench and sits down next to her bag on the cold wooden seat.
All her stuff gets laid down in front of her. Brushes, paint colors, water to mix, and the two sketchbooks.

Today she won't just draw, she's writing too.
Sometimes she writes. It was something she did a lot in her past years.
But somehow all the texts went back to the same person and experience, so she decided to stop writing.
Reading her texts stuck her in that moment, even though it could be the thousandths time she read an old text, she would still feel the same as the first time she laid it on paper. And the pain never got weaker.

So she just stopped writing.

The sketchbook holds some sketches for a client.
The second one holds a green lake surrounded by a green park where you could read a few words written in green. The second sketchbook was all full of colors. But somehow, green was very recurrent.

Day 1

She wakes up every morning at 7 to put on her shoes and drink that glass of orange juice.
She jogs around the neighborhood for about an hour before coming back home.
The sun isn't that strong now, but it's soothing. This is the pleasure she gets in life now.
The soft light and the warm smell of morning.

After the shower, the jeans, the tshirt and the jacket, she finished it off with a pair pf black converse. It's always black converse.
She locks her door going out and she walks the streets heading to that small cafe about 2 blocks away.
Her bag isn't that heavy. She just carries some notebooks and ink. Some means to tell her stories.

The cafe is beautiful and spacious. She never felt crowded there. She liked being alone now. She was used to it.
There was something pleasant and sure about that. She always thought to herself that maybe this time she made alone feel less lonely. Or maybe she made herself think that.