It feels really stupid, to wait, and wait, and wait

and knowing that nothing's going to come out of it.

My mind deludes itself into hoping that something will happen that will turn everything all right, but it always isn't the case.

I want to write again, but in JC there's really no freaking time at all.

How do I describe the feeling, the one that makes you feel so lost, hurt, helpless and empty, because your heart had just been torn out?

Pretty.

I wish I could write like I used to, but I've lost the flair for it (If I even had some in the first place) since JC's scrambled my barely existent brains.

I want to trust, but there are so many obstacles in the way, so many memories and reminders that tell me, do not, or you will tumble and fall again

this time from a very, very high point,

the tip of an ice berg

some whispers of conversation

v > me

don't feel so uptight and paranoid

but I am,

can't help it,

but I'm hanging onto this tiniest shred of hope/sanity and past


I don't know what I'm writing, actually

don't let me go