Something is wrong. Days rushing by. Fleeting images of places, faces and events. Where do they go? And our thoughts? Left unspoken, wasted, abandoned, slowly turning to stone. Until they fill our heads and the weight is impossible to bear; until they begin to roll in unstoppable currents, totally shattering our spontaneity.

I lied. I'm not afraid. With so little to lose, what is there to fear? I have so much to say to you, but there's no point, no meaning, no chance of unhindered communication. Beware internal cencorship. I keep repeating myself, moving in circles- and yet, I learn, or think I do. We go on, we let the sun dry our tears, we let the wind take our nightmares away. And we hope, we love, we allow ourselves to build castles in the air. For what else can we do, when life is nothing but a dream and tomorrow we may not be here.

Clichés and the customary existential bullshit.
Forgive me, it comes naturally..