(no subject)
You know, the kind of loneliness you feel when the vehicle is hurtling past night lights, and you're surrounded by relentless chatter all around you, but you're reduced to shoving your earphones in because you're so bad that you don't quite know or catch an opening to join into the crowd babble.
Sometimes the emotions are too much, so much that I shy away from expressing them coherently even into the shortest sentence I can muster, but my fingers tap away and make sure the words bleed dry from the tips and wets the pages - virtual or not - into blending colors.
The moment when I realize how different I stand in life, as opposed to people I love, like, tolerate-- the whiplash it sends me into because this should not happen, not like this because at the very least there's a basic level of courtesy I deserve, but you don't observe.
Tonight, I write again. Rambles, mutters, all under my breath, because I'm a pushover who's too scared to offend people.
Happy birthday to my housemate, her 24th, my unexplained affection, despite whatever grumbles I've had for her, she's still a sweet, sweet potato.
37 days till theory finals. Shit.
Sometimes the emotions are too much, so much that I shy away from expressing them coherently even into the shortest sentence I can muster, but my fingers tap away and make sure the words bleed dry from the tips and wets the pages - virtual or not - into blending colors.
The moment when I realize how different I stand in life, as opposed to people I love, like, tolerate-- the whiplash it sends me into because this should not happen, not like this because at the very least there's a basic level of courtesy I deserve, but you don't observe.
Tonight, I write again. Rambles, mutters, all under my breath, because I'm a pushover who's too scared to offend people.
Happy birthday to my housemate, her 24th, my unexplained affection, despite whatever grumbles I've had for her, she's still a sweet, sweet potato.
37 days till theory finals. Shit.