Incorrect

 Here's the thing; none of this make any fucking sense.

Actually, it makes shit ton of sense but I just enjoy acting like nothing makes sense so I can keep feeling dazed and confused. Hats off to big LZ. Although, some days, you keep hoping for something to happen and then it happens but it's nothing like you've imagined. You take your cup of coffee, get out the door, feel the cold on your face and realize that once again, you're going back home, to be alone, again. Sure, it has its upsides, most of the time.

Thing is, when I try to do something about all of this, with all the sense set to go in my head, it always goes south. After a couple of tries, I get depressed out of the idea and just stop trying. Some weeks, perhaps even months pass and one day, I'm getting coffee and I lock eyes with another perfect pair. Bam! Back at it again. I start thinking about it, then I make my move, try it and realize the bitterness of all of this again. I hate that a part of me likes this. See I hadn't written jack shit in some time and now here I am. Simply because of that small but sweet amount of melancholic sadness hurtling around my head. Sometimes I just wish everything would crumble under my feet so I could write again. The greatest passion of my life is hanging on a feeling that I can no longer hold on to. You know, when I was at the door, looking for my keys, all I could think about was how excited I was to get on here and write again.

And now our time has come to an end. Nothing ever lasts anymore.


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