Drunken, High and Glorious Bastards

Every person I knew up until this very moment was a rascal. And I mean this in the best way.

I honestly have no regrets about any person I have crossed paths with. For me, beyond being a possibility to learn, it’s a new experience. Because as much as some people end up looking or sounding the same, they have all a different spark. And that’s what interests me.

My close friends are badass motherfuckers. Every single one of them. Even the ones who don’t think so. All of them are intense, each in their own brilliant way. And for me, to be able to witness that and stand by their side is the biggest honor.

I have the utmost respect for these sons of bitches. (No disrespect to anyone’s mother, by the way. Don’t get all offended, you!)

The people who haven’t got any respect are the ones who got lost in the way (and stayed in the past) and anyone I refuse to call friend.

To be honest, I have no trouble making friends. Keeping them is the challenge. And that’s why calling someone a friend is not something to be taken lightly. (But hey, we are all learning here. We end up fucking up big time, a lot of times. Even and sometimes the worst, with the people we hold closer.)

That’s also why I have this high regard for my friends. They have stuck with this asshole that is my person through a lot of weird, complicated shit. And my life is not even that tough. But we all have demons in our minds. And those are the hardest to control.

But for me, the real satisfaction comes from revealing other people’s demons. Not because I am afraid of my own but for the simple matter of perspective. And from the outside, everything looks better.

I believe I am surrounded by geniuses. Crazy, irrational, self-taught geniuses. Who have passion slidding through their tongues and strength in their arms and potential in their brains. So much fucking potential.

We are bastards. Bastards who found common ground. Bastards who are proud. Bastards who stand tall. Bastards with little to no shame.

We are all enfants terribles (terrible children).

And still, we have love.

We are drunk and high on it. As we are on other elements.

But love is what sets us to overdrive.

We are all tough bastards. With hearts of golden painted black.

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