Today is a day for sad songs and despair. Today I revel in my absolute cheesiness and melancholy, because I am, deep inside the hard shell I build around me, a soft and sensitive creature. You poke me and I die.
Today is a day of rejections, remembered and realized; of abandonment, past and foreseen.
Today I remember all my broken hearts – I always make a new one out of the left-over pieces, and it’s never the same. I remember words said and deeds done, I remember the choices made. It’s always the remembering that’s hard.
Funny how I run out of words now - it’s probably because this isn’t the first time I’ve said these kinds of things. But I never knew too many words in the first place. Maybe it would have been easier if I had the gift of gab or if I were blessed with the ability to make grandiose soliloquies and literary expositions, but my ignorance roots me to the dead soil I stand in, so much remains unsaid, undefined. They claw and clamor and groan for release, these things that crave expression; they fill the walls with furrows and their abysmal lamentations echo along the corridors.
Today I look at myself and cringe at my gross immaturity, at how I rant like a 15-year old. Maybe age really has something to do with everything – maybe I’m 24 and I’m trying too hard to act older. Or maybe I am simply one of those people who suffer the misfortune of always being out of place, where ever they go. The weird guy; the annoying guy; the desperately pathetic guy; maybe a combination of all of three.
Today is a day of sad songs, of despair, of frustrations, of realizations, and of memories. Today I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I hate myself for it.
Today is a day of rejections, remembered and realized; of abandonment, past and foreseen.
Today I remember all my broken hearts – I always make a new one out of the left-over pieces, and it’s never the same. I remember words said and deeds done, I remember the choices made. It’s always the remembering that’s hard.
Funny how I run out of words now - it’s probably because this isn’t the first time I’ve said these kinds of things. But I never knew too many words in the first place. Maybe it would have been easier if I had the gift of gab or if I were blessed with the ability to make grandiose soliloquies and literary expositions, but my ignorance roots me to the dead soil I stand in, so much remains unsaid, undefined. They claw and clamor and groan for release, these things that crave expression; they fill the walls with furrows and their abysmal lamentations echo along the corridors.
Today I look at myself and cringe at my gross immaturity, at how I rant like a 15-year old. Maybe age really has something to do with everything – maybe I’m 24 and I’m trying too hard to act older. Or maybe I am simply one of those people who suffer the misfortune of always being out of place, where ever they go. The weird guy; the annoying guy; the desperately pathetic guy; maybe a combination of all of three.
Today is a day of sad songs, of despair, of frustrations, of realizations, and of memories. Today I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I hate myself for it.
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