Since last night I am browsing through my old journals, specifically the ones
when I was finishing high school and the journal when I first got into
the Army.
Dear God...was it me who wrote all that?!
How is that possible?!
See, right there is proof that time machines exist. And they are called the written word.
It helps if there is also a picture from times long gone, but only when
you write do you really know who you once were, what did you think
about, what did you do at all.
And so, in the last night or two, I met myself when I was 17 or 18 years of age.
Brother...
Now this, already older man, is standing in front of that kid and doesn`t know what to tell him.
The man became cold, hardened somehow by life itself, maybe even ruthless, somehow - fecked.
It`s hard for me to believe in this moment that I used to love life that
much. I used to love people, I used to love joking around, was always
honest, I believed everybody and everything, a lie was something far and
ominous.
Not to even mention how easily I used to fall in love...it was so simple,
pure, full of fire and dreams, mayflower springs and September falls,
winds from the mountains where my hometown used to be and golden leaves
from the parks of Belgrade. Always with a song, sometimes a ballad,
sometimes a headbanger but I always used to sing or whistle.
That was my soul singing, full of happiness.
And then...somebody gave me a gun.
I don`t know anymore who nor can I remember, I crossed that name out a
long time ago, probably in a drunken and sad stupor, but I managed to
forget. Somewhat. The name and the face I don`t remember anymore, but I
do remember the time and place.
And from that moment on, all the way to the birth of my child, it looks to
me like I was in a dark, scary, deep and ugly abyss from which I still
haven`t emerged in full. Not completely.
And I feel so sad about that....so sad that words for that are failing me.
And so I`m standing in front of that wonderful boy, my soul naked and vulnerable, and all what I can tell him is:
" I`m sorry for what I`ve become, for I am not you anymore. Forgive me, if you can..."
As good and naive as he was, maybe he will do just that.
But I do believe it will be hard for him...
when I was finishing high school and the journal when I first got into
the Army.
Dear God...was it me who wrote all that?!
How is that possible?!
See, right there is proof that time machines exist. And they are called the written word.
It helps if there is also a picture from times long gone, but only when
you write do you really know who you once were, what did you think
about, what did you do at all.
And so, in the last night or two, I met myself when I was 17 or 18 years of age.
Brother...
Now this, already older man, is standing in front of that kid and doesn`t know what to tell him.
The man became cold, hardened somehow by life itself, maybe even ruthless, somehow - fecked.
It`s hard for me to believe in this moment that I used to love life that
much. I used to love people, I used to love joking around, was always
honest, I believed everybody and everything, a lie was something far and
ominous.
Not to even mention how easily I used to fall in love...it was so simple,
pure, full of fire and dreams, mayflower springs and September falls,
winds from the mountains where my hometown used to be and golden leaves
from the parks of Belgrade. Always with a song, sometimes a ballad,
sometimes a headbanger but I always used to sing or whistle.
That was my soul singing, full of happiness.
And then...somebody gave me a gun.
I don`t know anymore who nor can I remember, I crossed that name out a
long time ago, probably in a drunken and sad stupor, but I managed to
forget. Somewhat. The name and the face I don`t remember anymore, but I
do remember the time and place.
And from that moment on, all the way to the birth of my child, it looks to
me like I was in a dark, scary, deep and ugly abyss from which I still
haven`t emerged in full. Not completely.
And I feel so sad about that....so sad that words for that are failing me.
And so I`m standing in front of that wonderful boy, my soul naked and vulnerable, and all what I can tell him is:
" I`m sorry for what I`ve become, for I am not you anymore. Forgive me, if you can..."
As good and naive as he was, maybe he will do just that.
But I do believe it will be hard for him...
