I just found this in my journal form almost a year ago
prezspeedoman: *humming softly to myself as i drift closer and closer to slumber, ignoring the rumblings of my stomach as it is dissatisfied with my supper of cake and ice cream, i begin to wonder if maybe time has stopped, or if people have left me altogether, but then i look up and read words that do not signify a meaning so much as a reminder that tomorrow will come, that people are still there, that life is not as bad as it seems.
Or maybe thats just what happens when you're half asleep.*
prezspeedoman: ooh wow
prezspeedoman: i should probably start writing constructively while im in the mood
prezspeedoman: hmm...
prezspeedoman: Eyes bulging through half closed eyelids, a familiar background serves as a reminder of my task upon which i have set myself. Or is it only a friendly picture? Scanning the screen i can only see the monotony of my own words, written as if in stone, waiting for the disturbance of another,
My eyes glint, as they had for the past half hour, back to a list of words, of people, people that i never talk to, people that i hate, people i dont care about, save one. Yet it dissappoints me. I always feel this way, sitting here. Perhaps I shouldn't wait. They all tell me that life is passing me by, forgetting me, leaving me, like a forgotten sock in a hotel room on the sixth floor. Do we need it? We can always get another.
But I cling, careless of what wonders might await me if I flag down the bus, the bus that charges nothing but the energy to get on. It seems so easy, so simple, so close. But i sit determindly on the bench, staring past the bus, not wanting to see the people inside mocking me. I know where that road goes. I went halfway. Or did I? Am I less experienced than I feel? Probably.
And suddenly I awake from my daydream to find myself still typing. Funny, isn't it, that I could do this and not really care. That all this could pour out of me as it has been wanting to. And then I could think that you would read it, and not care, and ignore. Or I could imagine that somehow, I am important, that somehow I have an impact, that somehow, you don't care that I ramble.
But I can see the truth, I can already see your response, your face, your feelings. I dare not hope for what I know won't come.
Or should I...
Or maybe thats just what happens when you're half asleep.*
prezspeedoman: ooh wow
prezspeedoman: i should probably start writing constructively while im in the mood
prezspeedoman: hmm...
prezspeedoman: Eyes bulging through half closed eyelids, a familiar background serves as a reminder of my task upon which i have set myself. Or is it only a friendly picture? Scanning the screen i can only see the monotony of my own words, written as if in stone, waiting for the disturbance of another,
My eyes glint, as they had for the past half hour, back to a list of words, of people, people that i never talk to, people that i hate, people i dont care about, save one. Yet it dissappoints me. I always feel this way, sitting here. Perhaps I shouldn't wait. They all tell me that life is passing me by, forgetting me, leaving me, like a forgotten sock in a hotel room on the sixth floor. Do we need it? We can always get another.
But I cling, careless of what wonders might await me if I flag down the bus, the bus that charges nothing but the energy to get on. It seems so easy, so simple, so close. But i sit determindly on the bench, staring past the bus, not wanting to see the people inside mocking me. I know where that road goes. I went halfway. Or did I? Am I less experienced than I feel? Probably.
And suddenly I awake from my daydream to find myself still typing. Funny, isn't it, that I could do this and not really care. That all this could pour out of me as it has been wanting to. And then I could think that you would read it, and not care, and ignore. Or I could imagine that somehow, I am important, that somehow I have an impact, that somehow, you don't care that I ramble.
But I can see the truth, I can already see your response, your face, your feelings. I dare not hope for what I know won't come.
Or should I...