Survival mode

Here, around the peace. No front carrying the dead bodies of dead warriors. No ground soaked in the smell of human blood. No criminal in dangerous combat with a loaded gun pointed at my fragile skull. No giant wave from distant shores destroying a hard-built nest of love. No raindrops falling perpendicular on my greasy hair. No danger. No crisis. No serious trouble. Thank God. The opposite, partial prosperity. Abundance. Good health. Good environment. A steady income. By some standards, a good life. A reason to be happy, to laugh, to enjoy, to savor, to waste, to sin. I wish I had such convictions too. I wish I could see it the way they see it too. Because I could, I would, I would be able to release myself from that grip and finally breathe a sigh of relief. Enjoy the present moment. Laugh at the simple jokes. To sit in a nice place, drink a sweet drink through a metal straw and not worry about tomorrow. To dance to the rhythm of the spotlight next to a green-eyed goddess. Shop in glass shops with extra worthless merchandise that looks so gorgeous on the body.
o lie at noon on a Sunday and watch a theatrical performance taking place in the house next door. I could, but I can’t. I’m in survival mode. Maybe, according to them, I have a good life. By my standards, my life is not yet the life I want. Dependent on one source of income. Still without all the experience of what a fallen crop hanging out there on the branches tastes like. Not in top physical and mental shape. A flow of words with excessively sharp edges. A group of closest friends not of the ideal dough. A list of goals still too easily achieved. Work results with not enough impact on other people.

I have nothing to bring relief to my heart.

Legs, heart in a marathon. In a constant sprint. In constant activity. Working like a machine. The audience calls it workaholism. I call it the only way to achieve my goals. The only way to have a life of your own. I wonder. I wonder how those people out there can slowly, relaxedly walk the sidewalks like pigeons in a square. How they can dance on a Friday night. How they can spend half their monthly income on temporary glitter. How they can drop anchor when their ship hasn’t even left port yet. I don’t get it. I don’t understand it. How I could pay someone in a few minutes what I’ve been making for days. How could I lie idle in a beautiful setting when in a few days I’ll have to go back. How could I drive a vehicle worth the price of a house when I don’t even know where point B is. I’m struggling. I’m battling now. Because today’s battle, will bring tomorrow’s victory.