— crossed out page —
I have nothing to say.
I just want to write as a distraction.
My brain is running rampant and my body is giving up on me.
The language being spoken in my thoughts isn't my own and the voice blasting my subconscious doesn't belong to me.
I'm questioning everything that crosses my path.
Is this even real? Is this really my life...
People say they love the rain but when it rains they use an umbrella.
They say they love the sun but when it shines they seek shade.
They say they love the wind but when it comes their way they close their windows.
That's why I'm scared when they tell me they love me.
Nothing I perceive actually exists.
I'm just one hand-sized heart. Beating to an unknown sound and longing for musicians to follow after me.
Nothing fucking matters does it?
-12:24am
-
torn pages and crossed out pages? hm.
YOU ARE READING
Out of Touch
Romancea deep dive into an unknown person's journal and their journey through trauma, loss, and most importantly love. - when the actions of falling in love turn into the very reason for your existence. the very reason that drives your passions and keeps...
