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Description
I'ts kinds strange. The way stuff works out. It's not really like I'm expecting everything handed to me on a silver platter, but I understand how everything's supposed to work. That's not my way. I'd rather not think that fate has it in for me, and maybe an optimistic view to things is the way to go. But it's so contradictory. Everything was perfect and maybe again. I don't know if I'm supposed to be excited/sad/disappointed/angry/happy/confused/hopeful. Maybe I'm supposed to be all of them, can they really work all at the same time? I'm not sure If things were meant to be this way. Maybe we got mixed up in the translation.

I've noticed the people that irked me most are the people exactly like me. I did it last year too. I never even gave her a chance. Was it because she was so much like me that the thought repulsed me? should it have? I don't know. I havn't really thought about it much, but this thought passed through my mind just now. I needed something different, and that's exactly what I got. Maybe that's why change is so hard. Am I supposed to care? The hardest part is how I feel... I don't. It scares me, a lot. I'm supposed to be slashing at my wrists, throat, chest right now. But I don't want to. I don't even have the urge to. I was so used to that and I thought that's how It'd turn out. It's an odd comforting feeling, letting go. Easier than I thought, but the only thing I had to compare to was previous experience. A little afraid.

But now it's just us. I know it's in tongues. But maybe that makes it all the more interesting. Cryptic. Bits and pieces of me. I like it. Perfect understanding, if only to me. We have this unsatiable need to know everything about someone else. At least me. In a sense I want it to be gone, I'm not sure if it will ever leave. Refer to "it." Heh. I've worn down. I can't even look it in the eyes. They're so beautiful. But then this new thing. Not even half. Is half of it, still it? Look, I don't know, maybe it's more. Or more than more. Maybe it's beyond enough to fill me. But I just said it's never enough. Can it be enough? The first it; Not the half, or more. Maybe the half.

Write what you feel. But what do I feel? What can I? Why can I? Why can't I? why can't I? Hmm repetition. Isn't it so deliciously dramatic. I think I'm a little insane. Not in the creepy way. I can see it, so maybe I'm not really at all. But if I think I'm not, than am I? Maybe it's just genius. Hah. I dunno. If enough people forget I exist, then do I disappear? I've always wondered. If no one knows you are there, then are you? I know, I know, Someone, somewhere must know. But if they don't, how can your mind be able to comprehend your existence? Maybe this is why I feel the need to leave a mark in people. If enough people remember, then maybe I am here. Or not, either way, It's not that important.

Burning an image into the fabric. Not just the fabric of time but space too. actual space. Photography. Our minds are like cameras, only malleable. The image it took over time is distorted. Maybe the fixer didn't take. If for the better, kept in dim light out of exposure the image is crisp and clean maybe nearly perfect. But then the bad stuff. Light. Exposure to everything: people, experience, weather, Drama. Can it really distort such a beautiful thing into something so horrible. The once memory fond of, is now something we'd rather throw away and forget. but something reminds us of the soft tones, the image perfection. how can it leave. The fixer, promises. the quality is the only thing that can tell. if overused so much the fixer becomes old and flaky. If shone on too much the image will distort. hues of purple to yellow-brown muck. But even though we let the image leave us and turn dark, the back of our minds are still pierced. Left with that perfect image we had our hopes on. Once the promises let the light takeover, can the original image come back. Or are we still left with the nasty brown one?

Description
I'ts kinds strange. The way stuff works out. It's not really like I'm expecting everything handed to me on a silver platter, but I understand how everything's supposed to work. That's not my way. I'd rather not think that fate has it in for me, and maybe an optimistic view to things is the way to go. But it's so contradictory. Everything was perfect and maybe again. I don't know if I'm supposed to be excited/sad/disappointed/angry/happy/confused/hopeful. Maybe I'm supposed to be all of them, can they really work all at the same time? I'm not sure If things were meant to be this way. Maybe we got mixed up in the translation.

I've noticed the people that irked me most are the people exactly like me. I did it last year too. I never even gave her a chance. Was it because she was so much like me that the thought repulsed me? should it have? I don't know. I havn't really thought about it much, but this thought passed through my mind just now. I needed something different, and that's exactly what I got. Maybe that's why change is so hard. Am I supposed to care? The hardest part is how I feel... I don't. It scares me, a lot. I'm supposed to be slashing at my wrists, throat, chest right now. But I don't want to. I don't even have the urge to. I was so used to that and I thought that's how It'd turn out. It's an odd comforting feeling, letting go. Easier than I thought, but the only thing I had to compare to was previous experience. A little afraid.

But now it's just us. I know it's in tongues. But maybe that makes it all the more interesting. Cryptic. Bits and pieces of me. I like it. Perfect understanding, if only to me. We have this unsatiable need to know everything about someone else. At least me. In a sense I want it to be gone, I'm not sure if it will ever leave. Refer to "it." Heh. I've worn down. I can't even look it in the eyes. They're so beautiful. But then this new thing. Not even half. Is half of it, still it? Look, I don't know, maybe it's more. Or more than more. Maybe it's beyond enough to fill me. But I just said it's never enough. Can it be enough? The first it; Not the half, or more. Maybe the half.

Write what you feel. But what do I feel? What can I? Why can I? Why can't I? why can't I? Hmm repetition. Isn't it so deliciously dramatic. I think I'm a little insane. Not in the creepy way. I can see it, so maybe I'm not really at all. But if I think I'm not, than am I? Maybe it's just genius. Hah. I dunno. If enough people forget I exist, then do I disappear? I've always wondered. If no one knows you are there, then are you? I know, I know, Someone, somewhere must know. But if they don't, how can your mind be able to comprehend your existence? Maybe this is why I feel the need to leave a mark in people. If enough people remember, then maybe I am here. Or not, either way, It's not that important.

Burning an image into the fabric. Not just the fabric of time but space too. actual space. Photography. Our minds are like cameras, only malleable. The image it took over time is distorted. Maybe the fixer didn't take. If for the better, kept in dim light out of exposure the image is crisp and clean maybe nearly perfect. But then the bad stuff. Light. Exposure to everything: people, experience, weather, Drama. Can it really distort such a beautiful thing into something so horrible. The once memory fond of, is now something we'd rather throw away and forget. but something reminds us of the soft tones, the image perfection. how can it leave. The fixer, promises. the quality is the only thing that can tell. if overused so much the fixer becomes old and flaky. If shone on too much the image will distort. hues of purple to yellow-brown muck. But even though we let the image leave us and turn dark, the back of our minds are still pierced. Left with that perfect image we had our hopes on. Once the promises let the light takeover, can the original image come back. Or are we still left with the nasty brown one?