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I sometimes have a quite huge difficulty in reading who I am actually being. I tend to see the days and absorb them as they come, but I also evaluate too much, too deep and too conscious of my role, the one I have to have here.
My life is a BIG mix mash. I´m either a precise woman, with exact figures, or a mumble jumble of a person yet to be identified. I´m either over productive and loyal to myself, or a sell out, giving bits and pieces that serve no one but me. Selfish? Well, I can, and need to. Strange? I have days, but hide nothing from anyone, I just let be, feeling in an extreme way, all the way.
I can go on despair on wether to move or change pace. I can soften or embarc on an endless voyage, taking nobody but my cargo. I can smile in wisdom, or cry of shame from all the bad choices. I can love over and over again, or simply decide not to, ever.
My dreams overwhelm me, but I never discard a single sign, because I´ll use them all until they acctually star to make sense.
This is me...
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