ive finished Tuesdays with Morrie.
one mesmerising afternoon, time stopped.
and its been such a long time, that, that a book actually made me cry. and i didnt even realise i was crying till my skin registered the saline tracks streaked down my face.
refreshing change, that made me want to find everyone who truly mattered to me, and to tell them how much i love them lest i should leave one day.
and, and they never got to know it.
but well.

tension of opposites.
the more i would want to talk to someone, to say smthg to that particular person, or people. the harder and more reluctant i am in approaching them, opening my mouth, speaking the truth. contradictory, i know. its supposed to be.
why. ask me why, and, i dont have an answer for you.
and so. you and i both, we've resorted to writing lyrics.
because next to silence, next to music, next to art, its the best alternative i have, to express myself.
and, ive abandoned language for words.
you, you probably wont know how to talk to me, what to talk to me about, and i wont either.
i see an echo of morrie, perhaps in choo.
and how im on my way evolving to a happy, blissful, ignorant Mitch.

i dont know. arent you ever tired? on some days, i feel so tired i just want to. breathe deeply in a fragrance bathtub. this flesh is too, draggy to wade thru with, in the mud.
if only, if only there's a way to GET OUT of this shell. i would.
the baggage weighs a ton. and well. maybe its just sin, pinning me down.
im left to seeking extreme experiences to get out, to feel to feel real.
so its just me, pen in hand. writing and rambling and twisting poison in my mind.
so. tired.
so tired of choir, of school, of my class, of so many things else, im sure you dont want me to name you.
but its not your fault, inclined to believe so.
something intrinsic, inside, that's at fault.

so, do you call this growing up?
play me something else, i dont hear your music anymore.