in my little scared timid non confrontational arrogent egoistic tangential ways, could i have ever gotten it through to you, how much you hurt me? and this. i wish i hadnt listened to you on this. now life will never be the same, in so many ways. so much more regret, as if i didnt have enough desertions in my backpack already. yes, i am feeling resentful. and yes, i do know its not really anyone's fault but mine. but still, u cant be rational all the time ;)
i often wonder who 'most people' go to when they feel desperate. Do they feel desperate. this strange rush, that barbie call 'the exam exam feeling' ... funny but apt. ur cant define it. or pin it down. this is not madcap calling. this is u knowing u fucked up big time and there is no recall. the dead have died, and the lost are gone.
its my own fault. i didnt know my own mind. I never usually listen to anyone. I am polite, and sweet. I am too lazy too argue. But I usually go do my own thing anyway. Atleast eventually. Thing is, noone but me ever had the full facts. so noone but me can make the right decision, however older, wiser, smarter they are. But sometimes I forget that. The decision seems to big and I panic and listen to what people say. And later, I regret. I feel a little resentful, but I know thats not fair, because if someone told you something, they thought it was for the best. But still, the heart doesnt listen to logic, sometimes.
there's no poison more potent than guilt. and regret. now, that the shock of losing you, and the weight of knowing its for good, has settled into this unfeeling numbness, I miss the bitter sharpness of the pain. Sometimes.
sometimes i forget. what i am. where i come from. i play with the other children in class and laugh and sing. those are the worst times, because its only time playing a trick on you. when it comes back, it comes with a bang.
so there i was, walking through a crowd of stranger, smile and nods at hand, to be dispensed, exchanged, like loose change. Suddenly, I see you appear, looming like a giant over the gold painted organ. I started to take a picture, before I knew what I was doing, in excitement, to send home to you, when suddenly I remembered, you've left me and gone back home, to your palace, with organs and blue tiled rooms.
So I recollect myself, and wind my the thoughts back up and place them in my other palm, and stuff it in my pocket. And when I pull it out again, bring out a smile and some silly question and paste it.
Sometimes the best way to stop people asking what you're thinking, is to keep them talking about what they are thinking. Other times, the only way is to distract them with something else you, quite easily, might have been thinking.
The walls of the fortress are high. The sentries parade non-stop, on the bare, forbidding walls. Inside its cold and bleak. Outside, its sun and flowers. Inside, just nothingness grows. And at the heart of it all, is the museum.