Poetic Drama
I'm turning to my LJ again. That can only mean one thing, really. That I'm feeling some sort of undeniable, unavoidable sadness (or at least a relative melancholy emotion of the sort).
I'm not even going to bother explaining what it is. I don't even know. (Do I ever?) No. And now, here I am, having a conversation with myself in a written form.
All I know is that my heart is heavy. It feels like dread. (Can one dread something they are unaware of?) Maybe it's a psychic dread. (Not likely).
All I know is that I feel like eating circus peanuts by the bag full and hiding in the comfort of my sheets. And that thought, alone, makes me cringe at the sound of my own dramatic emotions.
I'm not even going to bother explaining what it is. I don't even know. (Do I ever?) No. And now, here I am, having a conversation with myself in a written form.
All I know is that my heart is heavy. It feels like dread. (Can one dread something they are unaware of?) Maybe it's a psychic dread. (Not likely).
All I know is that I feel like eating circus peanuts by the bag full and hiding in the comfort of my sheets. And that thought, alone, makes me cringe at the sound of my own dramatic emotions.