Ashes...

This is not a love letter, and this is not a hate letter; this is reality...

You know, my relationship with them is good, actually... But this is the reality between us... It's their fault that I haven't lived.

      This is my life, Love....

       For what have I lived? What have I done? What did I bring to life? Nothing... At an age when love brings you to new heights, or kills you, I ran away from love...

       What have I done? Nothing... I am the person who has always run away from something or someone; what, or who was I looking for?

        I face the story of my life, and I am frightened. Where didn't I go? Like the ghost ship, I've always traveled, driven away by an undying torment, and I passed through everything, yet I remained untouched, and I was not stopped. I am a wraith. I exist for other people, but not for myself, and life doesn't exist for me either. I pass through it like a ghost. The obstacle that makes one exist, giving strength and desire, is unknown to me...

        I pass through life like air. I am abstract, I have no meaning... I pass through this concrete world like  driven by a curse, without essence, without break. I wasn't gifted with repose and strugle...

        My father gave me my mind and personality, and cursed me forever to be a black sheep, in a family of black sheep, that is twisted and gloomy, and not unlike the Black family. His maternal grandmother gave me my hair and eyes, and I thank every God that is listening that she didn't give me more... My mother threw in me the untamed spirit of her Albanian ancestors, and gave me some of the beauty and the warmth that she has; and they are those of a Greek statue. But neither of them gave me a soul. The moody black sheep and the untamed Albanian loved each other, but I am not the fruit of their love, I am the curse that has stemmed from two cursed lineages...

       I run, this is my life; I run of nothing and I run after nothing. And yet, I still do it. I crawl on this earth, without taking root. I slither. Life doesn't accept me, I can't cling to it.

       Am I able to pass this curse unto you? Can I utter the word "love" in your presence? No, I can't. I, the person without a soul, without substance, don't have the right to say it. The flame of love belonged to my parents; to me they've left its ashes, and the winds that forever carry them...

       Forgive me...