The impulse

Streets of mud and damp
A city that wants to revamp

If I ever thought about destiny, now it has to be the right moment to do so. Four months of failure and boredom have led me to the unsure terrain of self-pity and pseudo-horrors. 'Enough!', Eger shouted, and once again offered a helping hand not just to ease the pain of my puny soul but to fix it.
So why is the guy with the coincidence tattoo is preaching about destiny? Before the dear audience loses faith in him, please hear my more-than-plausible explanation.
Jury, judge, executioner, behold.
I got a damned job, flat and scholarship within a week! Did you just conceive that? After being influenced by women (from best to worst, in that time order), chasing made-up dreams and trying to explain why my moves make sense...and convincing myself that I'm actually not screwing up everything through shitty emotionally-affected decision making, now, here, see what happens!

The only thing I miss? The impulse.

The spark that makes me write better.
The push that makes me work harder.
The small everyday miracle that makes me feel alive again.
The ignition called "love" that kickstarts the rusty pistons of my heart

Damn, god! The day you mold each and every human being and set them ready to go, what kind of job have you done with me? Look, most people need simple goals to move from A to B, like having a family, studying something, getting rich (bah) and so on. But even if some of these still motivate me (please exclude the fuck out personal fortune, thank you), I'm paralyzed without the mighty assistance of love. The cheesy, pinky, fluffy and glossy love. Let me explain this with a rather simple illustration:

And then you just let me go, sitting back in your armchair laughing. Old bastard. One day I'm coming up to you and showing that you couldn't fuck with me. Just a bit.