Us & Them

We are the kids that guide their way home through the moonlight.

We are the ones that crave for the bottom of bottles just to see if there’s any friendship back in there.

We are the child of divorced parents, of dying grandmothers, of eternal love affairs, of sunsets by the sea and conversations by the window.

In every cigarette we inhale, a story.

We force ourselves to sleep on roadtrips, knowing that whoever's on the wheel is driving too damn fast. 

But fast is the life sliding trough our hands, trying to escape its own destiny, and we want every part of it. 

We know how this life can hurt you – we have tackled pain right in the face and told it “come on, is that all you’ve got?”

And it is by a bit that this world hasn’t swallow us whole.

We have survived so much more than nine times, that cats would be embarrassed.

We have fell from such heights that nobody knows how we’re still standing on our feet. Our paws are wounded; our tails are shorter but our tales are still full of fairies.

Sometimes we even stretch our claws in the smell of danger.

But then… then we remember our softness and we climb into our bed and curl up into our dreams and fall asleep again just to vision them one more time. Just to know they are still there.

We let ourselves be kind. We let ourselves be weak – what’s the difference, anyway?

No. We are not weak. It takes courage to be kind, in a world where everything that revolves around you is trying to sharpen your razor.

It takes courage to be soft.

To give your hand to strangers instead of turning your back on them.

To hide our thorns and be vulnerable.

To be open.

To love them.

To let them love you. 

It is giving your blade to them, as if saying “it’s up to you now”. Kill me. Or love me. And then tell me what’s the difference.

We pick the best parts of our tragedy to fill blank pages. We take every naïve part of this soul and make it wider. We make poetry out of the people we’ve loved, even the ones who hurt us. Especially the ones who’ve hurt us.

We build bridges upon the sea that insists on flooding our way home.

And sometimes we dive, just to feel again how it’s like to touch the water.

We dive into the unknown, even with the lights off.

We have “trouble” amongst our names and we still ask for baptism.

We translate aching into passion – we wouldn’t know any other meaning.

Our numbness is so loud sometimes we can even feel it.

The movies we see are our hideaway, the books we inhale, our asylum. 

And friends, will always be our favorite place to visit.

We keep running in the wrong direction – someday we’ll reach home.

Have you heard the word “survivor”? It is written in our DNA.

And do you see this scar? 

It is where my heartbeat blows the loudest, a friendly reminder: you are still here.

You don’t have to say that we will survive this. 

We know we will. 

And we will never stop.