i think i’ll leave it up to fate.
i really need to get out of the habit of using contractions
and
i’m only funny when no one is paying attention.
(damn contractions…)
i stared vacantly at the wall in front of me. i put my feet up and watched my toes move along the grooves of the surface. the loneliness didn’t feel as bad as it usually did, but the gap in my heart that should be filled with love is still empty. how many times do i have to write about my loneliness for it to finally disappear? i refuse to accept the fact that writing will do me no legitimate justice. because, well, it’s all i have. it’s all i’ll ever have. and if that can’t keep me from sinking back into depression, then what will?
i have these fits; these episodes. where everything is going wrong inside my head, and i start freaking out about something that is most likely irrelevant. the moment i feel the anxiety start to break me, it goes away. just. like. that. what is wrong with me?
in a deep dark place inside of me, there is something, something very important, that is missing. i don’t know what it is, but i need it, i crave it. it’s driving me mad that i don’t have it. the worst part is that i’m left in this deep fog. how am i supposed to search if i can’t see?
- him: if i were there, i'd be a tourist, you know.
- me: and i'd kiss you longer than i've kissed any tourist.
- him: if you kissed me, i'd be the last tourist you kissed.
(via prima-volta)
