To my friend that never reached,

Bounding in despair, I have been swallowed by the gravity.
Surrendered to the deepest of the hollow is the least unwillingless battle I can give.
I try to look around but I see no faces, I have no sympathy left.
No power to rule.
Settled, nowhere, somewhere beyond.
I am left with no agony, half misery half bitterness.
I a m o k.
I hate you for making me feel.
I hate that I love you unconditionally, even when my dignity has been forsaken by remorse
and for the most I hate myself for being drifted by it.
To the one who cannot be named, who lacks of any empathic value.
Him, whose conscious has never fallen by the wall of his manner.
He is the fight that I never won and I never will.

My dearest melancholic friend,

I dare you to joke with life itself, it is an utter comedy, a tragic death of our own idea about life.
Unfulfilled and yet still undesired, life, in such a peculiar way shows her real face, I can see now, no man can cheat happiness.
No man can be enough.
We fight one another in a battle that has been already defeated by ourselves, our fears and ego.
Which land can sustain such tragedy and which capacity can bare it?
Less than a human and more like an animal the will grows spiral, imagination is the extend or the safe trap for all this hollowness.
My friend, whose dreams and desires shattered unexpected we still fight for something greater than this.
It is our lives that need to be protected and bare that our existence will meet happiness at last.

For my incompetent comfort to understand
and my will to love

Foteini