I don't know why. Maybe, there's nothing I can't tell others that I can tell??
Maybe I've just told everything, perhaps so much more than I should??
I am still fine and all. I haven't lost any of my parts.
I am still a whole person. A whole person is full of worries and dreams. Fantasies. Well, almost.
I don't mean to say anything.
Somehow, I just sense the change.
I don't like it at all.
But it's time for a new life.
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I don't need anybody to understand me. I am no goddam philosopher.
And my life is not a bit interesting.. at least to others..
And I don't understand others too. Life is just a big puzzle.
I think God is really playing a damn game. Is it blasphemy or what? I don't care.
Everybody's so different. I am I, you are you, and he is he, she is she.
Yet why DID I still believe there're some important similarities between us?
That tricks me for the most part, but that tricks others too.
Different we are, so why do we still have so many common rules to follow?
Why can't people just recognize this and stop pushing me to torment myself,
while indeed, not a single person has actually even said a word?
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I am actually quite happy with myself.
It's the night. It kills my mood.
Nights are for writing about solitude.
Writing about mine and others'.
I've seen so many people who could have been much better.
Yet somehow, they are still just the ways they are.
Escape is what I am searching.
Even when there's no escape. I have to.
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Why the night? After a whole day of exploration, there's so much to tell.
"Listen, are you listening?"
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This is the best prose I've ever written. Indeed. For it's real and all.
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