At War With Myself... Once Again.
I have come to the realization that I post too much personal information on Facebook and need to convert back to using this as an outlet.
My emotions and OCD are getting extremely out of hand. Been keeping myself busy with burning bridges and random companions. And. I'm. Just. Plain. Scared.
I haven't felt this scared in a long long, very, long time. Since 2005 to be exact. And sometimes it's just hard to breathe.
Scared that I am going to wake-up to the realization that the past week has been all but just a dream. That the pure exasperating happiness (that I haven't felt in years) that magically stretched out to the most energizing 27+ hours. Was it just of my imagination?
It just could not have been. That sparkle of those eyes, which were surrounded with wise lines. The way lips curled with a smile that would make the devil blush. It couldn't have been a figment of my imagination. The reaching of phalanges all while bloody, battered and bruise in the dead cold night of October. Blushing cold corpses while kisses were stolen over a mediocre barley.
Yet... there is still hope that I am not loosing my sanity at all, that this is real.
May just may have a little light on the darkness I call my life.
My emotions and OCD are getting extremely out of hand. Been keeping myself busy with burning bridges and random companions. And. I'm. Just. Plain. Scared.
I haven't felt this scared in a long long, very, long time. Since 2005 to be exact. And sometimes it's just hard to breathe.
Scared that I am going to wake-up to the realization that the past week has been all but just a dream. That the pure exasperating happiness (that I haven't felt in years) that magically stretched out to the most energizing 27+ hours. Was it just of my imagination?
It just could not have been. That sparkle of those eyes, which were surrounded with wise lines. The way lips curled with a smile that would make the devil blush. It couldn't have been a figment of my imagination. The reaching of phalanges all while bloody, battered and bruise in the dead cold night of October. Blushing cold corpses while kisses were stolen over a mediocre barley.
Yet... there is still hope that I am not loosing my sanity at all, that this is real.
May just may have a little light on the darkness I call my life.