your words are heavy but they lack so much substance
Salvation Army Thrift store in my hometown makes me happy.
Clothes, in size XXXXXXXXL, make me happy
My hair, like prima-ballerina gone wild, makes me happy.
My friends make me happy.
My boots make me happy. They are for walking.
Christmas.
I don't like you anymore.
Sometimes I wish I was invisible. I could just forget where I am.
I guess invisible people have no hurries anywhere. They don't rush to other people's hearts. They are not running away all the time because no-one can see them.
I am running away all the time.
From what?
From myself? From someone I expect myself to be? From someone people think I am?
Identity crisis come in pulses.
If I stayed in same clothes every day, would it be easier to recognize myself?
Nothing is here.
Everything is somewhere else.
I don't know why it is so hard to stay in normal routine during the holidays.
I stay up till the morning. I just listen to the music and stare the ceiling. I read and write. And falling asleep feels like losing the days.
Yesterday I was sitting in a café with my friend
and hating the men who laugh too loud and with too much of false confidence.