Thursday, March 16, 2006

I only hear what I want to

These days, everything makes me want to cry. A song, a word, a joke, a show, a PLAY... everything you can possibly imagine. I would've been smelling like tears for too long now if only my tear ducts had opened up. I don't know whether to hold on or let go. Holding on means I'm still hoping for that opportune moment when things will suddenly bend over backwards and snap into place. It means I'm hoping for something that may never happen... how brave am I to do that? How pitiful and humbled, and monstrously pathetic can I allow myself to be, even just for a hint of what could be?

Then again, holding on is self-inflicted torture. It's suicide with a blue Panda. Or a congenital fungal infection.

We're the same, you and me. You have been mourning since I don't know when... but from the look and sound of it, you've been mourning for way too long. Once, I fell in love with your play of words - your words which were dripping with heartache... your words which I used to dream were for me. Your words which are now my sentiments, which just leads me to believe we're all one in the same. We're all heartbroken and jaded.


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