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  • What is mess made of? Is there a true essence of a "messiness"? Does it have any hunger for a portion of our everyday life or is it just something that we do to lose control of life's uncontrolable design? Can we mess with someone with the best of our intentions? Can people mess our feelings apart? Is mess a state of self-humiliation?

    Music is filling my room with dots of fluid sadness today. She got married. Since 2003, she takes part of my sweetest dreams, and she got married this week. A romantic trip to Spain. I can see love, I feel love, I touch the love stamped on the Instagram picture. I'm making a theater of it, I know. A scene in which the dramatis personae is only my sense of guilty for the past I want to erase and live again. There's no ghost of lover's past, just a humming in my ears - "I could have been happier".

    A grown up human being shouldn't leave mess takes place. Present is a touchable experience of strenght. In this way, we fight the mess. Human feelings are not prepared for it, though. We mess our rooms, and beds, and hearts, but we can't mend things, specially a messy heart. It takes so long that we'd rather live on with sadness, disguised as experience, than accept the world is a messy place.

    Much of this neat environment isn't made by me. I don't want to be pointed as the only responsible for the mess with oceans and whales, birds and the rainforest, oil and atmosphere. This mess is not part of my choices. Call me selfish, the planet runs better without us. I don't know human race is worth the effort. However, there's a mess in my guts today, and I know I made it myself when 9 years ago I refused to be just a little bit mature to chose life. I don't accept the mess.

    You know a person's mind is messy when you realize nothing she says makes sense. Futile and childish, complaining about nothing. The garbage I offer today is sincere, yet. I guess I just wanted to party this mess around.
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