I know that everything has changed; apart from my name, nothing much is the same. Now I wonder if awareness is equal to happiness, because somehow moments stayed longer in my mind when they were an inhale I didn't bother to memorize. Now I'm a museum filled with stains from all the different kinds of pain, now I'm dipped in paint, dipped in so many colours, aiming to complete a thousand pictures, not content with just one. Now I'm confusing hunger for love, and my heart has lost its gravity; my ribs are its cage, one my wild heart won't escape. And now that I've walked a road filled with scars, instead of tears, I'd like to swallow the stars.