Aug 05, 2006 21:58
i like to make things. its true. so now i have this gigantic apartment in the middle of the city and instead of actually doing anything with it, i just draw pictures of the way it should be.
a giant elaborate bed in the middle of nothing. it is missing one key piece and no, its not the damaske.
one week, you're wondering what the point of anything is and the next week you're getting offered an actual career that makes you happy. something you are more than good at. to be wanted and needed is always a good feeling.
as much as i try to live everyday without him, it becomes increasingly hard to live through things that were meant for him. is it believable that a girl would be content with herself? why does everything think that because i wear too high heels, or shiny lipgloss of have long eyelashes that i want to fuck?
this isnt the case.
i have been reading more than i should. the great gatsby. chi. 1oo years of solitude. lolita. its a wonder i am not covered in paper cuts. instead. my skin grows increasingly paler. my hair increasing longer. my body, increasingly thinner.
i am unrecognizable even to myself. no wonder he is hesitant.