Panta Rhei (Πάντα ῥεῖ)

I spent the past week typing and typing, writing and writing to the total number of 8 pages, full of thoughts, book rants and raves, self-analysing, flashbacks, and again thoughts. I didn't forget to mention the conclusions, cause there were none. I still plan on continuing the writing process in this little file with the simple 'untitled' as a name for it. However, I came to realization and with it hopefully will come the right decisions. Regardless of all that crap and jazz I have been writing about recently, I finally feel free. Yes, free. There is no more need of Beck and his Sea Change, cause the sea has already changed.

Panta Rhei-everything flows, everything changes.

Same with people, same with feelings, same with me.
I am finally free.
I am finally content and this is good. This is what it probably should be. It's time to stop rushing into faux expectations and stop following my impatient impulsivities, which can be easily called mistakes, because they were nothing more and nothing less than results of my little chaos of emotions. But I want to believe that my chaos can also change and become a bit more organised.

I am aware that this is not some deep, meaningful, or wisecrack post, but it's me and even though I would love to write deep and meaningful posts, I would still love to be and write...me.

'Baby you are lost...lost cause,
I am tired of fighting, fighting for a lost cause.'

All words are gone, just these lyrics stuck in my head on repeat with the music being my emotional mirror reflection, and it seems to work. But it was not supposed to be like that, it was never the initial plan, you know? I want my words back, I want my old thoughts, you were not supposed to take them away from me. Staring at the black keys of my keyboard, looking at these white letters on it and wondering which to use so I could form my words, and I do not really know.They all mean the same. They all mean...you.

It's not like Beck is on repeat, it feels like I am on repeat. Repeating the same old lines, the same phrases, images, just like grandma used to say 'your thoughts are like a film tape'. However, the thing she does not know is what film is currently playing on it. That's good, cause if she knew, she would look at me questionably and ask 'Don't you have a life to live?' and I would just laugh as usual, because what else could I reply to this so simple and meanwhile paraplexing question. She is more than right and I am more than wrong, but you took my words and I was almost convinced that it's a fair trade.
But, you know, Beck is wiser and older. I am tired, tired of playing you on repeat in my mind's film tape, so it might be about time to change that damn tape.