My father used to tell me that a righteous man should always put his interest first.
“You can’t make anyone happy if you’re not, son”, he said, his hand grasping firmly my shoulder.
All my life I follow [bad word]  Free to go anywhere, free to meet anyone, free to enjoy every moment.

My way… it has always been my way of doing things. As soon as I’ve stopped feeling please and happy, my bags were on the backseat of my car and the engine ready to fight against the asphalt.

The fading architectures through the window have always inspired me. I wanted to merge into this constant dynamic and never had to stop, never had to feel inertia one more time.

I loved the smell of conditioned air, I used to fill my lungs with it and keep it in me, until I got dizzy.

But, when my dad passed out, I’ve started to wonder: what if I am the main reason of my confusion?

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And then I’ve remembered the cities I had left behind, so many places where I had never build anything.

I’ve remembered all my old friends I had betrayed by being a selfish [bad word]  a useless ghost.

Everything was so clear: my life has always been about escaping not moving.

While everything I ever needed was a mere shift of origin.