I am not trying to fool myself about all my said problems.
They are not organic. they are just sentimental experimentation.
Once created, they just multiply by the second. They simply develop out of control.
I'm not the creator anymore. not once birth is given and they are exposed.
Lately, typing has been harder than it should be. If every now and again I lack the time, or sometimes, the words; now I lack the courage to fish them out of my heart. What you see on your screen is just what's been imersed in the darkest part of me. Not a problem on sharing it; I just feel as if the words typed should be spoken. and if they do, who should be the listener. Lately, it is right to say, I've just been confused.
I had a lovely time with friends last night. It is always so great to listen to intelligent people. I also find fascinating to watch how people articulate their feelings; how they express them, how they compress them to finish a sentence or two. I felt so lucky to be surrounded by beautiful, inteligent and talented women. I admire them so much, they probably don't even know it. I sat there for quite a while, wishing I could see life through their eyes.
But I can't. I complicate the complication. I question every little absurd that doesn't really have to make any sense. I feel and feel and feel and forget to think. rationalize my impressions and questions is something i could come to terms with. So after the lovely conversation and great night, I just left the place feeling sad that I know exactly what i need and want. but will never have the guts to go and get it.
Somebody asked me recently if I'm easily distracted.
I didn't even hesitate to answer: yes.
But who needs attention when all you want is to live safe and sound in your little shell? What people perceive from me is pretty much creation of their own minds. It doesn't concern me or even bother me. I like to think I'm a hundred different people to a hundred different people. if that makes any sense. But to myself, I'm just an eternal waiting-state calamity.
I could never feel sorry for myself. As I said, lovely friends and a life i quite enjoy are simply more than enough to keep me happy. But I do feel heartbroken. let down by not having control over my own emotions. feeling like the little shell's got many cracks but no aperture; no door where i can let you in. or can let myself out.
on that note, you come through in small doses, from time to time. and the wait crushes me.
They are not organic. they are just sentimental experimentation.
Once created, they just multiply by the second. They simply develop out of control.
I'm not the creator anymore. not once birth is given and they are exposed.
Lately, typing has been harder than it should be. If every now and again I lack the time, or sometimes, the words; now I lack the courage to fish them out of my heart. What you see on your screen is just what's been imersed in the darkest part of me. Not a problem on sharing it; I just feel as if the words typed should be spoken. and if they do, who should be the listener. Lately, it is right to say, I've just been confused.
I had a lovely time with friends last night. It is always so great to listen to intelligent people. I also find fascinating to watch how people articulate their feelings; how they express them, how they compress them to finish a sentence or two. I felt so lucky to be surrounded by beautiful, inteligent and talented women. I admire them so much, they probably don't even know it. I sat there for quite a while, wishing I could see life through their eyes.
But I can't. I complicate the complication. I question every little absurd that doesn't really have to make any sense. I feel and feel and feel and forget to think. rationalize my impressions and questions is something i could come to terms with. So after the lovely conversation and great night, I just left the place feeling sad that I know exactly what i need and want. but will never have the guts to go and get it.
Somebody asked me recently if I'm easily distracted.
I didn't even hesitate to answer: yes.
But who needs attention when all you want is to live safe and sound in your little shell? What people perceive from me is pretty much creation of their own minds. It doesn't concern me or even bother me. I like to think I'm a hundred different people to a hundred different people. if that makes any sense. But to myself, I'm just an eternal waiting-state calamity.
I could never feel sorry for myself. As I said, lovely friends and a life i quite enjoy are simply more than enough to keep me happy. But I do feel heartbroken. let down by not having control over my own emotions. feeling like the little shell's got many cracks but no aperture; no door where i can let you in. or can let myself out.
on that note, you come through in small doses, from time to time. and the wait crushes me.
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