I am growing old and the anger and the storm inside has comed, what before have kept me awake screaming is now a distant memory of all could have been. All my questions have been answered, if not in the right way It has left a satisfying blur upon me that I will not clear. My actions are many and of thous around me, I need not worry. The long walk has ended, and the traffic drown upon my heart has stopped.

I am no longer hunted by the ghost of the past. My memories are carefully selected by my new positive self, and I choose to wake up in the morning drinking coffe reading a newspaper acting upon a impulse tuned flat. This does not in any way seem boring to me, and me worrying about what’s on TV is in itself just a safe worry that leave no scars. This being said I sometimes miss the old Black Dog, my depression has been with me my whole life and are somehow apart of me. It was kept on a tight leach outside in the back yard, and it never run away. As faithful and predictable as a Dog can be. Althoue it sometimes snapped at me it was never put to sleep …

“Ibo 2003”