Pages of my gayish life

These are just a series of sentences strung together and addressed to the holder of the fragmented pieces of my heart. They are just words, words that mean different things to different people. This simple letter probably will make you think of someone. That someone isn’t my someone, but he held the same power over you. He kissed you with the same surreal brilliance that captivated you so deeply. He looked at you in a way that stirred a place inside your soul you hadn’t known existed. He told you that he loved you, and you believed him. He isn’t the same man, but to him, you cry the same words. You and I are also different, but we are the same. We have the same heart, or rather what is left of it, and for that reason, I hope this letter brings you some kind of complex sense of comfort. I hope this letter helps you to understand that you are not alone in this beautiful land of heartbreaks that we tiptoe through with the complete notion that it feels like an intriguing game and a horr...

All weekend I spend in Art Festival. Either way ironic - the ratio of visited galleries and consumed cocktails to me is not as pleasant and other events make me want to go by sea to carry out a logo analysis and build my priority card house, and amnesia would be beneficial and helpful. I spent a lot of time with one great girl who agrees with the excitement of the universe formula and also dreams to live in a post-apocalyptic world and dreams of the apocalypse at least once a week. It is good to meet the tribes. But that's not about that. The same girl on the street inadvertently was forced to accept a leaflet from Jehova's witnesses, which we later examined in detail with the crew at the next bar. A normal healthy citizen adhering to the frames of the society a bit shivers after hearing sentence The End, because any end of the world is somehow universally appreciated as a horrible thing. But that's the good news, Jehovist's paper with a beautiful illustration s...