Tired.

I want to move to a place where I know nobody and nobody knows me,
where no one will ask me questions about how I feel without expecting me to give the cliché answer.

Meeting people is tiring.
Talking to people is tiring.
Their thoughts of me are tiring.

Please stop telling me to move.
Stop urging me to do.
I don't want to fly nor stay.

I want time to freeze.

Two people can claim that they love the other party but both loves are unrequited.


What a madness.

I will never find the happiness I crave for.
But someday, the wish will die out, and then I can live.

It is really funny how fictional characters remind me of you.
Not all, only those two, who had been designed to have the kind of smell, the same one we had when I was with you.

Nobody is going to understand what you are to me.
I finally did, but noone else will.
I now believe that that's the part of being an adult, that you have things people won't understand the way you do, that people won't ever see it in the same light as you, and nobody is going to be ever being that close to it. To that circle that I have cut over and over again, to limit my space.

And thus, I have decided, I won't ever talk about you to anyone anymore. I won't let people know you exist. And I won't do it even if it will make the other party better.

This will be the last time I did. Not anymore, not in the future.

Some day I believe it is something to be cherished.
Some day I wish I could kill it.

OK, maybe, just maybe, it would make me feel better to say them all.
They are always in my head, I versed them carefully, I was debating with myself about them, et cetera et cetera...

But it is not worth it.

They don't matter to anyone but me.
Not everything that exists in this world matters, yeah, life's not fair.
It's a yeah-so situation.

And even if I did, so what?
It won't change me in anyway.
I understand that this is permanent, to the point of giving up trying to throw it away.
I am still learning to live with it.
The fact that I am writing this means I haven't gotten far yet, but I will learn to ignore it.
For sure.

So, it does not matter, if you hear it or not,
because it won't change you,
it won't change me.

To you, who changed me, this is nothing.

list of excuses not to talk

It is really surprisingly easy to isolate yourself.

I'm not in the mood to talk

They won't understand

I'm lazy to explain the situation from the beginning

I don't want to disturb people

Let's just have fun and forget it

I won't like their reply, if they even bother to reply at all


There. Go ahead and add more.

There are times when I'm afraid of myself, of what I may find amusing or what I may do.

But this is the first time I'm actually worried about myself, about what I might do, in this situation.


I will never be able to tell anyone about this.

WTF

I know this might just be that period where I get too emotional for nothing,
but, seriously?

Did people really use that kind of shitty excuse?

What the fuck.
What did I do to deserve that.

Oh gosh, I wish I was not that fucking plain.

I could not even remember the face.

Did I have that kind of intention?

Well, yes and no.
I wanted to play, but not to continue.


Ooooshit.
I need to stop doing something like that.

Sigh, self.
What the hell is wrong with you.

to do the right thing

What's the point of "doing the right thing"?

To make things better?
Maybe. But "better" has many dimensions that it is difficult to tell which one is actually better.

So that you don't regret?
No, sometimes you wish you did otherwise, even tough it might turn the situation worse.

So that you don't hurt people?
OK. It makes sense. Or actually, to shut people up. No one can complain if you do the right thing, even when it doesn't change the situation.

To make you feel better about yourself?
It is somewhat more fitting, to my logic, so yes. I'm a very self-centered person afterall.



Sooo...?
Is that it?

Haha!

It starts to get funny :3

As similar as it may,
you don't pardon people to pardon yourself.
Because that's not how it works.


So yeah, fuck it.

If the second chance is stupid but sometimes necessary,
the third chance is a huge pile of bullshit.

To find me there

Even if I have nothing left,
this won't do unless I do it wholeheartedly.

Learn to love.
Learn to embrace.
Learn to find myself, once again.

Did You get tired waiting for me?
I'm sorry.
I don't know when I will come back.
But, for always looking after me, for always sending Your love, thank you.
For always walking ahead of me, even when I stray, thank you.

Someday, I will come home.
But maybe I'll stray again.
But home is home.
I will remember You.

Afterall, I learned to love from You.
That's why, I'll give You what's left, and maybe, I, someday, will love again.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.


How do I tell you so it doesn't sound like an excuse?

もう嫌

Full moon.
I feel more.
I take more.
Crazy swinging mood.

So I convinced myself things were not as bad as I took it for.


No moon.
Calm sea.
Human again.

But why do I still perceive it the same way?



Because it's the truth.
I should stop blaming it on others.

It's me.
After all, it's me.
It has always been me.
It is broken.
I broke it.


I don't know where I should start counting.
But this is perhaps the second hit.


What's wrong with me.
I want to stop.
I don't like this.
Not this.
Stop.
Make it stop.
I've had enough.
How many more times do I have to take the hit?

Where were you who decided this would be our life?
Why disappear. Why now. What now.

Why you.
What did I do.
What did we do.

Pictures

It just doesn't make sense, how reality was just ridiculously as good as pictures.

With you, it doesn't make sense.
This needs to stop.
I need to stop picturing.

Feel

You know, sometimes you just get tired of feeling the same thing over and over again you want to stop feeling.

Books

It just suddenly crossed my mind, 'I want to read your book'.

You know, my book is crystal clear.
It's not like I write it down, at least not more than scraps of it, but it is always there.
I mould it in my solitary moments, I put words to it, I can read it out loud to anyone.

But you, you are not that kind of person.
You probably don't think about it. You feel. You're always that kind of person.
Even from your feelings, some of them are not yours. A few people, whom you specially let to, put words to them. And once they do, the idea of your feelings changes too.

That's why, although I can read you like a book myself, once upon a time, I'm curious.

What will you write?

How do you describe all the events we had?

What am I to your life?

Do you feel bad about it?


I asked, but none of your answers are yours. They are merely poor projections of your feelings.

You see, even though I am not part of your book, it is also fine.
It will probably still sadden me a bit, but I won't be surprised.
You're that kind of person, after all.

I'm merely curious, of how you see the color of life, from behind your glasses.

"Give Me all you've got left, all the rest of it,
though you think it is impossible,
trust Me."