yeah, i love my life right now

neutral tones

i love him because he made it so hard for the world to understand him. he didn't write his poems immaculately, trying to force onto the world his views. it is simply a confused man putting pen to paper, and doing so beautifully.
who gives a shit if he contrdicts himself, and dont you dare call him a 'miserable bastard'. who the hell has a straight mind? and who the hell doesn't get bitter about reality.
he didnt give a shit that the world didn't want to see this side to romance, he put it out there anyway. pen to paper, a stream of thoughts from a man trying to understand the world.


p.s. i missed you, it's only been two weeks physically, but i have missed us for months.

so close, yet

1 month, 12 days

well its been a while. not since i've written, my draft box is cluttered with the most trivial of complaints, observations and what not. i look back on them with a tragic sigh, as i hit the wall of shame when i realise how wrapped up in my own life i get. its enough to make you sick.
its like when you're in a exam, the time starts 'right gentlemen, and ladies, you may begin', your head goes down and the world becomes irrelevant, and your mind hones in on all the things you laughed at in class, words like 'flagellum' suddenly become crucial for the next hour and fifteen minutes.
and then you're asked to put the pencil down, and you return to the world you left behind, almost dazed as if you were expecting a welcome back.
in the time im writing, my head goes down and it might not resurface to reality for another half hour. suddenly all that really matters is what im writing, who's reading it and how to get rid of the bloody dusk underneath my keyboard.