As a child we grow up with a bunch of fairy tales
then we grow up and people tell us that awful secret, the naked truth: fairy
tales do not have any binding with reality, there's no happy ending.
well, yeah, sort of drama this way, but let's overact.
Thus, Prince Charming coming and saving us, the one that let us live the love
story of our lifetime, the big one, is just like Santa Claus: an illusion.
The greatest illusion.
Not even Houdini could do it better.
Let's face it, friends, but we need to cheer us up: the right one is out
there, somewhere, among 8 billion people there should be that asshole which is
the missing side of our soul, shouldn't it?
Our Fairy Tale Prince Charming.
So, now it's clear that reality is not a fairy tale and that life is not a movie, I ask myself a question:
how comes that my life is like a film?
or a never ending TV-serial.
a less surreal version of Beautiful, but with the same countless number of backfires.
a touching and panting version of a book.
Oh yes, I discovered it just a few moments ago.
Because that's it, you do not hear from people for decades, friends with whom you shared the toilet as well, and then when you try to sum up last two centuries they lost, boom, they tell you that your 10 lines resemble the storyboard of a book they read.
and then you get the light on.
Fuck, a romantic book, so all this going down, something that started like fireworks, is just a piece of a story to let it be gripping, to obtain a more dramatic end, more emotional, leading to a nuclear happy end.
No, fuck.
it's just a nuclear bomb.
because this book ends bad, as our vessel went down like a hopeless breadstick, no option it comes back from the dead (where's god beautiful when one's need him?).
So then, life is not a movie, finally, is like a book, bad ending in the bargain.
Or better this is how goes my story.
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