I’m not waiting, I lied, I know.
In this ruckuss world, I couldn’t find any shelters. I mean my person.
I know it well I musn’t rely on something contemporary — you know fantasy about love — it’ll just hurt me in the end, nah — I’m not that weak.
I’m not searching, I don’t know how to find either— moreover I’m lost, I don’t even know what I’m searching for.
I fulfilled my emptiness with fake happiness on my things. You know, watching some dramas, listened to good music, eat delicious food I made, stay in my dark rooms, ignore bunch of messages on my phone, cut my interaction everytime i feel it, but you know it just make the empty feelings got worse.
But I’m fine. Don’t worry — who am I talking to? Who the hell would care?
I can’t hate on people, so I hate myself more.
I can’t love people properly, that’s why I think I love myself so much more than other person would do — people call it being awwkward because I can’t stop makes everything turn weird in split of seconds, i can’t help it tho.
It’s a waste for me having feeling that serious to some people when I know nothing last forever, each of us will hurt in the end.
You know I’m suck, maybe I need some help, but I don’t think somebody outhere will reach me when I show my darkest side. They’ll leave. I know.
Being a human for me sometimes is a weird things,–scratch that, I mean it.
Feelings somehow scares me.
Being honest, egoistic, weak, showing it too much,
I can’t bear people look at me because I showing too much of my will, I can’t bear it even in my imagination.
I’m afraid because I know when I feeling something, the chance to being a human would increase.
I would hurt others when I’m changing, but staying the same kills me inside.
Until the messages came right into my eyes, and I realized what I need to do with my life, I will answer my own question — asking people for an answer is a lot of weight than i could give to them.
I’m trying to feel enough with my own expectation — or else I’ll live without any of it, so my heart won’t itch when I found myself waiting.
Being human for me somehow lonely, but I know I could bear it well.
Being human for me somehow fascinating, because all this time I found myself enduring it, like i don’t even know how to feel properly, or maybe all this time i always do it wholeheartedly.
Being a human for me is such an expensive things I couldn’t reach, because I realized maybe i simply don’t know how to.
