I’d never known a point of time in my waking hours that I had nothing in my mind.
But now, I don’t really know if I have anything to say at all.
sigh. Sometimes I wonder what I am trying to be. I’m not really here, not really there either. I can’t decide. It’s too hard to decide because I’ll end up thinking of the road not taken. Where I would be if I had chosen this instead. Is it really worth all that trouble to trouble myself with this sort of inecessant rubbish? Shouldn’t I just heck it all and just go according to instinct? bleargh. So much for the free-spirited me. I wonder if I even was one. I feel like a bird with broken wings, so beautifully timed that the rest of the flock should head south and I’m here to deal with the coming winter. Broken.
Feeling? harrumph. Am I capable of it? Maybe I ridicule it as a human feature that destroys oneself. Must be the reason behind my sharp tongue. So much for being a nice individual outside. I know I’ve tortured leeyee to no end in primary school with it. And alot of other unfortunate souls who just had to cross paths with me at the wrong moments, which are plentiful.
And here comes the side of me that chooses to be moody. Planitively speaking, the part of myself that I appreciate most. It is then when I love the oddest things alive, or look at things from a *rather* distorted point of view..no, I am not a perverted being. Tainted I may be, but not to that extent. This is also the part of me that enjoys silence. Silence is a virtue, and I appreciate it because it listens. It listens to the screaming in my mind out of frustration, anguish, fear, whatever. It’s an invaluable companion. I wouldn’t know what to do without it.
And there goes the undecided part of my conscience. If I can even call it that.