The bottle of wine has fulfilled its purpose. Slowly, yet precisely, it’s completing its role. Latin music in my ears. On the bed beside me—where I wish to see the one I’d confess my love to for a lifetime—there are once again things packed in vacuum bags. A brilliant tip from my mom—the best woman in my life.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the reflection of TV music videos on those plastic surfaces. Physics as usual? No. A softened mind, and in it, a strange kind of happiness—stirred by the reflection and by imagination. Dimmed light of the world, a fake glow, and wildly beautiful visions of my dreams stepping into reality.
Is it about money? No. I’m a man—and like many of us, I’m trying to create something meaningful. To become someone. Someone who makes jaws drop just by entering a room… with only one purpose: To be loved. Loved by a woman. A partner. The kind of love we now see only in old Disney tales.
I wonder whether to finish the glass or if this is enough. There’s no second bottle—and if I go too far, I might lose this feeling. And why even hold on to it? Because in this state, a mere plastic reflection gives me stars. A clip on TV gives me love.
Because when I drift into a time where I’m successful enough to approach the unattainable, to invite her to dinner and see a real chance at her love—I’m happy.
There’s so much we could do, everywhere… And yet— What does it matter, if no one’s there to hold me at night? If no one’s thinking of me?
Forgive me, all of you who care. You—who gave me life. You—whom I love more than I could ever love my own daughter. You—so deeply in tune with my thoughts, you could write them for me. And all of you who love me…
…but still, there’s an emptiness. The kind that makes me want to stay in this haze until my strength runs out—and then simply fade.
How many feel this way? No one? Is that why people grab beers after work? Why they kneel beside their beds and pray? Why they build castles in the clouds?
Let’s put an end to this age. This nonsense that gives us everything—except happiness. Because even if I had to work the fields until I collapsed, with nothing to eat, and had to do the impossible just to feed those I love— I’d do it. For one embrace. One kiss. For the certainty that the one I need… needs me too.
We all pretend. So do I. We suffer quietly, hiding our sorrow— only feeding the illusion shaped by someone with different values.
And the world plays along. Marching toward something senseless. Just shine. No warmth.