A Page from my Diary
It never faded, I'm afraid. Not even once.
I've always been fascinated with the ideal. Pulled into it. Gravitated towards it. It was something unreachable for me, yet I continue to walk into it but never fully reach it. Just standing on the bridge, just looking of what lies ahead.
I'm aware of what has transpired and when it began. Or how it started. Though I'm not entirely sure how it's suddenly there.
It's something that I want. Or need. I don't know. But it's asking for disaster. It seems perfect but it won't be. The consequences won't be.
My thoughts continue to drift away, my mind eluding the answers I'm searching within me. As if my brain doesn't want to make a decision on logical grounds.
This must be what they call "complicated".
I've always been fascinated with the ideal. Pulled into it. Gravitated towards it. It was something unreachable for me, yet I continue to walk into it but never fully reach it. Just standing on the bridge, just looking of what lies ahead.
I'm aware of what has transpired and when it began. Or how it started. Though I'm not entirely sure how it's suddenly there.
It's something that I want. Or need. I don't know. But it's asking for disaster. It seems perfect but it won't be. The consequences won't be.
My thoughts continue to drift away, my mind eluding the answers I'm searching within me. As if my brain doesn't want to make a decision on logical grounds.
This must be what they call "complicated".