quite alone. feeling quite alone.
should i speak?
i never know when it's right. i'm afraid whoever i'm contemplating is busy, because i don't want to be disappointed if i say hello and they're side-tracked. this happens - with everyone.
i don't like to be disappointed. i hung up two more cranes today. ménage à deux.
it didn't make me feel any special way, i just hung them up.
do you read me? really?
tonight was one of the strangest nights that i can't even write how strange it was.
i don't even know what happened and it was the strangest night of my life.
i feel ghostly and non-existant. sorries aren't in order, however i feel like a whisp who sits on top of cotton and does nothing. just floats around.
an occurance - the other day i listened to all music in a row, without skipping tracks, giving everything a chance
today i gave almost nothing a chance.
i should just,
give up the internet and telephone
and write letters. that way, i'm never disappointed. you can't be disappointed with letters,
because it's a surprise when you recieve one, it's more worth it (it's been built up) and a very pleasant experience.
i should just not use any-internet any-more. but then i'd be even more like a ghost,
no one would see me! do you see me now though?
i feel like my friends would see me more in letters. handwriting is more personal. letters are lengthier than anything on aim. if i could do both would that be contradictory? probably not, this isn't anything.
i always change when i meet people and stay friends with them. why does that happen? that happens all the time. is that a good thing? i suppose,
in some cases - but not in all,
surely. it is much too late but i don't know what i'll do in bed.
it feels like an island now: not a part of anything, my bed is detached from the window. it makes me feel detached from everything. i'll have trouble getting to sleep.
i was listening to deerhoof and holding my phone in my hand waiting for something to happen,
i felt so tired,
but speaking when you're tired is nice, because voices sound ghostly (in a good way, mind you!), and they crackle and are glittery and lovely,
night-time, sleepy voices seem nicer than everyday ones. am i making this up?
a ghost i am. or just a small bunny, running away from the gardener. i'm a tangled thread? i wasn't pulled along by anyone! can i just not tell? i have many questions, who can answer them? i wish you could. you can be the purple in me,
i would talk to you all night. it has to be outside. when the sky - in its biggest form on display -
it makes us feel more hopeful despite our dusty sizes.