There won´t be such thing as coming home for christmas this year. simply ´cause there is no thing to call home anymore.

reality is just a concept, made up by perception. my perception is shifting, therefore my concept of reality gets more and more permeable.
i catched a glimpse of myself in the mirror, standing there, my hairs still flurry after a careful but futile attempt to straighten the curls, in tight blue jeans, trying to get myself into small talk. All my mind was consumed in acting, well, normal i guess, to fit in, while my appearence, at least to my own eyes, got blurred, as if the atoms forming my body were less strongly bound than those of the others around, who were seemingly still solid as rocks. the tiny things composing my very being were drifting apart, leaving space for the cold winter air to stream through. i was moving very carefully, terrified to touch anything in fear of seeing my lucid hands just glide through chairs or bottles.
reality´s shifting, with myself not acting like me, but becoming a remote-controlled ghost, my mind on stand-by, just waiting for someone – anyone – to turn the switches.

(no drugs concerned with this, not even alcohol)

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