I own nothing. Literally nothing. I neither own my clothes, nor my bags nor all the money in my account, nor the perfumes with the touch of exotic scent, nor the blanket that coats me with beautiful dreams and the solid hours of sleep, nor the stable signal from the wifi, nor the electricity that keeps my rooms cold and comfy nor the phone calls from Mom - Dad - fiancé - sister - brother - friends - colleagues - boss nor the journey I've been walked so far So why bother to be afraid of losing things when everything doesn't belong to me. I own nothing, literally nothing. Not even death which tastes bitter. Not even lost which fears me. So why it feels so heavy when things don't please me Do I even own my own feelings? I think but all of those things spiraling in my mind, I don't own it. What can I do was to be present, to acknowledge that I belong to something greater to my knowledge (that actually doesn't belong to me).
Écoutez! J'ne vous raconte jamais des blagues, j'vous jure!