into the west

how come i feel so empty, every once in a while? it is not some despair, one of those uncontrollable crying sessions, or pure sadness. i sense it more like the emptiness of a life that’s finished before being appropriately lived. the resentment of leaving behind your so well-thought plans, the ones you were to love. melancholy speaks in english to me, don’t ask me why. it’s not a stomach-ache, although it feels my guts are being strangled. i can’t decide whether I feel like crying or not moving at all. they come to me in tears, pounding me with their problems, which are mine too. and i’m not able to solve them, i can’t even share a word of peace, or a hug. i'm as useless as one can be, sometimes. strangely, i get the feeling that writing in english is safer: like i could say all this, not saying, not being understood, which is foolish. anyway, my head’s heavy, my heart’s heavy. it seems like i have no love to give, and that’s the most scary thing a human being can experience.