I'm missing a somewhat crazy sense of mind; of mine. The way that everything made perfect, deranged sense and things were clear. But this complacent happiness is unsettling and I am sure it's only temporary. Which I want, at the moment.
At the same time I want to improve. Aching to, it's oh-so-important. Needs must, that I should get good grades and lose weight and try and be something, anything, something not this. Improvement is good & if this were not all too familiar, a sign of advancement, that maybe-possibly I'm a little less childish than before.
I know; that I am too selfish to think on one person at the moment; it is people that I am thinking of. And I like this. I'm trying better to talk to people & make an effort. So, improving. Yeah.
I miss those days that you called me pathetic. I don't think I could forget that. And I even want them back, even though it was me & nothing else. I didn't feel quite so robbed of a personality. Aching to do things I know I really shouldn't.
I wish so much I could communicate this. Anything.

I'm going to wake up tomorrow and paint my nails black, in bed. And I'm going to hope that the sun shines through my window, and that I won't be like this. Why does this almost, not-quite-there happiness make me feel like I'm already dying?

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending:

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