When I feel like a poor man I start to complain.
I’m starting to get through the situation I’m in.
And it’s starting to get hard for me.
Because I don’t want to be seen differently.
And I don’t want to know myself any differently than I do.
And I slip on a slope where I can no longer see what is around me.
I’m just looking ahead.
And there are a lot of things I’ve built around me.
I’m starting to get out of a closed mind and not resign myself.
Because in chaos there is no room for something new and beautiful.
Because my dreams are pulling my sleeve and I’m sinking them deeper.
Because I don’t want to meet people around me and I don’t let them into my life.
Maybe if there were no suffering and disappointment that would inevitably come sooner or later and I would never be ready for them.
Because the momentary little joy gives me peace.
And I believe in destiny, thus ordering the events on the floors of life one by one.
And maybe people end up loving things and satisfaction more than themselves.
When I feel like a poor person, my conscience actually sighs after fulfillment.
And, I don’t want to give it to her.