Albert Camus once searched the answer to existentialism.
However, I guess it leads to an absurdism.
I was on my way home...
Different thoughts were running through my mind...

I live up to almost 22 yrs...
Have I done what I’ve always wanted to do?
And so what even if I’d done so...
Is it for me??? Or is it for the others???
Why do people do things but in the end lose all of it??

I don’t think I’m doing it for myself…
But what can I do for myself??

It’s hard to think about existentialism when mortality makes it absurd…

I was passing by town…
Thinking that it has changed a lot from comparing those images I have in mind 3 to 4 yrs ago…

I used to compose myself many years later…
Well I guess…
It’s just all fiction…

Everyday seems like a dream…
Not that they feel like fairy tales…
But those dream that I can’t recall when I wake up from one another,
Those kind of dreams when they have a big twist of the entire content.

One moment I was…
And the very next moment…
I’m no longer…

Well at least I have him…
And maybe my dad to make these twist a little bit better…