Maybe what you need is (everything)

The story is still the same even if it has a different name and appearance -- nothing if anything at all has changed. I have been writing a blog for several years and in past year I have changed the address the title the layout at least seven times, because of things that happened last spring. I always play with an idea of starting a completely fictive blog, but it would have barely any chances to survive as my life seems already seems to be out of this reality. I avoid fiction, because this way I can look at my writings in four, six years and ponder to myself how many things, including myself, have changed in such a short period of time.

I used to tell everyone that I am a writer and I write poems, short stories and letters that are never sent. It has been a year since I wrote something that could be defined as a "creative work". Last year was everything else than productive; I fell in love with a man who was seven years older than I was and lived in the other side of Europe. My parents accidentally found out that I was in love and it still keeps eating the bond between us. I moved to the United States to study, but not only did I fall in love for the first time in my life last year I also fell into depression that had never happened before. I was a step closer to alcoholism and my behavior was out of control as I would be drunk almost every single day of the eleventh month. I ceased existing, but then I decided to do something that I could have never imagined to do. I dropped out from college and moved to a foreign country to live with the man with whom I fell in love in France approximately a year ago. My parents are from continent called Asia, I was born in continent named Europe, I finish my high school in the continent of Africa and last quarter of two-thousand-and-nine I spent in the new continent of North America. I have not stayed in one place for very long ever since I turned seventeen, but I guess I never had any kind of roots either.

This story, however, is not about the past. Last year is blurry; I have not much written down about the things that happened as there was absolutely too much happening. I moved too many times (shifted from Africa to Europe, then to the Americas and found myself again in Europe), nothing was concrete and literally butterflies were losing their wings to the predators. One day I will recall the things that happened last year with the aid of words, but now photographs will be thrown into the stage and actors and actresses shall be mute.

I am collecting the pieces of myself here.

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing else.