I actually really like crazy people. I identify with them souls. Those souls that never look at anything without give to it an especial meaning. That make choices based in their bloods, in their fever. I've been with crazy people during all my life, since I was a baby girl. When I grew up, streets where the best scenary, where all the fucking feelings was discussed between booze and kisses and drugs and screams. The urgency of crazy people is something that I understand so well. And I love it. Time is not something made to lose. Words were not made to be unexplained. It should be tasted, just like every experience that life can provide. To crazy people, being something little in the middle of universe doesn't mean their lifes represent a little part of it all. We are immeasurable. It's a required awareness. And maybe it's the reason for all the chaos they create around their sadnesses. Every single anguish of human-being must be shouted, divided.
If crazy people had limit, they wouldn't be crazy people. Regular people will never know how to live with true passion. Passion has no limits. The problem is that it often hurt you.
