(no subject)
today i've been thinking of everything i could do, and at the same time it makes me desperately happy and desperate in so many ways. all those people i could meet, all those places i could see, everything. and no matter how i'm trying to describe it will end up sounding terribly banal somehow. so i guess it's better not to describe it this time, i'll keep it (all) to myself.
while walking home i started making a list for myself. of all the things. and i remember how i used to make lists all the time. of people walking by, of their habits, words, the clothes they wore. because every single detail seemed so remarkable. but by seeing all those details i always forget to see them all together, and i started to feel that i'm stealing something from those people. and one day i threw all those lists away. like i threw all my writings and diaries away, rip them apart and cut them in little pieces.
while walking home i started making a list for myself. of all the things. and i remember how i used to make lists all the time. of people walking by, of their habits, words, the clothes they wore. because every single detail seemed so remarkable. but by seeing all those details i always forget to see them all together, and i started to feel that i'm stealing something from those people. and one day i threw all those lists away. like i threw all my writings and diaries away, rip them apart and cut them in little pieces.