subject: conversation .
time: 11:31am
music: cold water - damien rice
mood: sick.

tis' may be quixotic; starry-eyed wonder of a romantic imagination that is nurtured by all past trauma. a violin is wailing in the background, screeching stories of memories, of death and repentance to you who is still willing enough to draw one slow breath at a time, looking out for the sunrise. and at night, for the stars to shower them empathy, fully knowing that really... nobody can tell where the sound comes from, except to look to the sky when they hear it, the abyss that they can never really understand, just like how they do not understand what repentance is. only fear. only fear is easiest to feel. and we have tried so many ways to kill this fear.

slow down, you hurt yourself more than you let joy in.
i don't really want to see things, just see where i'm going.
u know, sometimes, bitter realization is inevitable ?
i don't know what's wrong with me these days.
i know. you have to confront. to confront is to confirm. it has to be perfect. perfection in imperfections. you do know this ?
yes. but its probably resentment, hatred - i feel nothing but contempt. not just to the people who made me feel this way but also to the rest of the world that seemed oblivious to me, to ourselves.
you'll end up saying you're sorry.
it isn't the first time.
you're just you.
who else can i be ?

--
doc passed me yet another project. nominal role - spsrs shit.
i love me job. i really do. its just that... it's beginning to leave me with no space for anything else.

go away. i'm a mess.