(no subject)
i used to think that life happened between the small spaces of time spent away from my dreams. but after this, i don't know anymore. now it seems that my dreams are more realistic than the reality i'm living now.
in reality, i feel bitterly alone. the only human contact i have is the hustling commute to work on the train. even surrounded by people crowded on the metro, in a city full of 20 million people, i find there is no one i can connect to. i have friends at work, but it all seemes like a coreographed motion of coversation and interaction. in those eight hours, i feel stuck in a play, playing an actor whose forgotten his lines.
getting home only leads me to more emotions of awkwardness and discomfort as people surge past me in their apathetic rushes to home.
in reality, i feel bitterly alone. the only human contact i have is the hustling commute to work on the train. even surrounded by people crowded on the metro, in a city full of 20 million people, i find there is no one i can connect to. i have friends at work, but it all seemes like a coreographed motion of coversation and interaction. in those eight hours, i feel stuck in a play, playing an actor whose forgotten his lines.
getting home only leads me to more emotions of awkwardness and discomfort as people surge past me in their apathetic rushes to home.