the day...my guard will be down, my voice will be heard and all i will do is to throw away all ive been keeping. the day my hands will stop seeking the texture of your skin or the coldness of the keyboard on nights i had thought would turn out to be better.not bitter, not meaningful either, just quite simply, better than what they are just now.
ive been giving up on trying to understand you and to be honest, i completely forget about every conversation we start. i try to ignore the situation but the scream, the frustration, the innevitable, the unknown... its all there.
right on your face.
Every now and again, I feel this need of writing about you.I find it hard though. It's almost as things work between us.. predictable, almost inevitable, but above all, innapropriate. we are wrongs of the same truth. we find comfort on each other's oddness. I secretly miss when you're not around. i panic when i realise that. i give silence a reason to exist.
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