… and the room is silenced.
yeah, okay.
anyway, sorry for being dramatic and all, but i don’t think there’s anyone who really honestly cares, so i’m going to go for it anyway.
i love how my best friend always acts embarrassed of me or something.
it’s like… i flaunt her because she’s amazing and hilarious, but whenever she has friends that i constantly tell her i wish i could be friends with, she doesn’t even bother mentioning my existence.
i dunno, but that kind of pisses me off.
separation anxiety |six|
A slightly generic glow of homesickes washes out of the gleaming panels of glass. They brilliantly reflect the blinking city lights. From miles away, the skyline shines like a star, ostentatious and inviting. aWalking the bustling streets of Chicago helps me forget the sinking pit in my stomach, the violet pounding and hammering in my head. Chicago helps me forget my home, because I feel at home. Faceless pedestrians brush my shoulders, ignore the wonderious buildings they have walked past so many times. They bore holes into the cracked sidewalk as they scurry away, rats and mice looking for food and shelter. Distracted, I set my own pace. Chicago is one big flurry of commotion, and I can’t really help but stop and stare.
truth be told, it’s my favorite place to be.
separation anxiety |five|
There is a generic flow to the way people think. In a way, most people expect the worst out of the world, or they expect the best. It goes both ways, yet we still end up questioning and second guessing ourselves with one foot in our grave. Even those who have no regrets and live life without glancing back, those who are determined and those are just so sure… imagine a completely different way they could have gone. There are too many ways to be happy, too many ways to be a failure, too many ways to be different.
iffy. but true. some don’t even need to by dying.
separation anxiety |four|
How do you feel? Now that you pace the bustling corridors and you let those insects you consider your pathetic peers see your true weakness. Gentle cloud grey orbs lined with a canvas of bloodshot suffering star blankly, vermilion and hideous. Perhaps you are embarrassed or ashamed, perhaps your eyes only flood with more tears. Those demonic salty drops blur your already damaged vision, blending the faceless heads and libs together. Your are humiliated, you are defeated. They all know, they all found out. Politics has never been your favorite subject.
separation anxiety |three|
Time is a concept I write about often. It’s a reoccuring theme, just as is handwriting, lying, apologizing, and making no sense at all. They are my trademarks, if you will. They are the words and ideas you can expect from me every so often. I guess you can say I’m just a predictable person.
short and sweet. i hate being predictable.
