I want to follow the yellow brick road

I lust after lives I read about in books. I lust after places I see in films. I cry over people I have never met. I miss people who do not exist. I fall in love a million times, I get my heart broken, and I get my hopes up only to be dashed again over and over again. I feel regret and embarrassment and butterflies in my stomach just from watching a show.

How can a simple song throw me so off balance? How can one book make me rethink all my decisions? How can a film fill my heart with so much emotion?

How can I be nostalgic for something I never had? How can I miss a moment I never lived? How can I feel more emotion, more human, more alive, while reading a few pages of a book than I can during the rest of my day? Why am I numb to the real life but so sensitive to the fictional world?

Is it a Wizard of Oz syndrome? Do I switch from the grey Kansas to the colourful Oz? How can I switch back to gray, when I got a taste of colour? It’s like having to take food supplements when you’re used to the delicious powerful taste that colours your mouth at the first touch.

I wish I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, Toto.


The magic number

How many times can someone wake up staring at the same ceiling, the same pillow, the same person?

How many times can someone go through the same exhausted arguments?

How many times can one turn a blind eye?

How many times can one say, I’m fine, when they’re not?

How many times can someone force a smile on their face, straining the muscles that should work so easily?

How many times can someone face the same desk, the same boring job, the same people, the same conversations, the same life?

What is the magic number that makes people realise it’s one too many?

What is the infamous number which makes a person snap?

Which number will make a person go out for cigarettes and never go back?

Which number will make a person pretend to get a dissociation disorder?

Which number will break the melancholia we surround ourselves with, not realising until it's too late, the grave we've dug ourselves in?

Pick your magic number, and get in line.