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It’s been a year now and what changed? I still have no beard, I’m still not tall enough, I’m still fat and alone. Alone as someone could be. Attached to my past only because I don’t want to let it go. Am I afraid? Yes. Of what? I don’t really know. Sometimes I think I wasn’t ready for this life, I wasn’t ready to grow up and become an adult without burning that wild stage of life when you just don't give a shit about nothing and do whatever you please with your friends. Maybe that is what I miss... my friends, but, are they really my friends? One has become a bum who doesn’t even care about himself and that shit hurts deep down. The other lives in the other side of the world and we barely talk. And besides those two, none of them talks to me. Funny, right? Because they are still my friends though. I miss my ex even though I never told her so. Everybody thinks I’m living the life but is not like that, at all. It always comes down to this: Me and my thoughts. Late at night with nobody to talk to, but de qué voy a hablar? De how shitty my life is? De how lonely I feel? Fuck no, I don’t want to get nobody depressed as shit. Sometimes, out of the blue, I tear a little and I don’t even know why. I just feel sad. Is it my job? I don’t think so, you just get used to things, and now I even like it, the harder it gets the more I like it. Weird, right? I think that’s because somehow I need to get my mind away. Time flies. Un año parce. Y todo es igual a cuando llegué: wake up, go to work, take the train home, sleep and do it all over again. Yeah I’m fucking some bitch that I don’t care about. We are fuck buddies and we both know it, we don’t even talk to each other a menos que sea para cuadrar una salida. She is cool and pretty pero no me gusta, es vacía, feel me? I just don’t like her like that. I don’t even enjoy smoking pot no more, it just makes my thoughts rattle around my head. Todo suena como que estoy llevado del hijueputa, si o qué? Lmao.

Pese a todo, hay días en los que me levanto feliz pero mk, reeee feliz. Literal. Osea, es súper raro, todo está bien, todo chillin, tipo “Mi vida es una chimba, estoy en New York City, donde todo el mundo quiere estar y me ando quejando?” Esos son los mejores días, es como si no estuviera en la realidad. Pero esos días son muy pocos, diría que contados. A dónde se fue mi felicidad? Siempre he sido un man alegre, que todo le importa un culo porque hagamos lo que hagamos un día nos vamos a morir y al fin y al cabo uno se arrepiente más de lo que no hizo de lo que sí. Y así funcionaba para mi. Ahora soy un man gris. Así me siento, así siento mi vida, de color gris. Un gris triste y pálido que da ganas de nada. Quiero volver? No sé; pues siempre me dicen que sea como sea uno estando acá, está mejor y pues es kinda true. No tengo nada que me haga querer volver; pero tampoco nada que me haga quedar and that’s fucked up and a half. Por qué escribo esto? Tampoco sé. Maybe me haga sentir mejor, but hey, lo peor que puede pasar es que no funcione.