zombiepiphany

This is really nothing for anyone to see but myself, a collection of the dream I just had that's all: I stood at work somehow attracting enough attention by not saying a word that she happened to ask me what was wrong. Would I like to talk? But talking helps you, she said, she actually remembered something important. A sign. As I breathe in slow my eye traces her outline, her gaze locked onto mine. 'yeah...I just...' I cast my own look to where we are. 'this isn't really the place though.' She looks upset just brief enough to hurt, I correct myself 'it's the right people, trust me. There's no one I'd rather talk to than you. It's just that a

It's a strange thing to have the want to be writing again when, afterall, the mere notion still harkens me back to other emotions tied in with people of the past. I suppose it shouldn't be a shock though as I'm sure anyone who has ever put pen to paper or letters to page could claim that something or someone was once standing in their way, blocking the path toward future endeavors, it must also occur that the only way to those endeavors are to ascend beyond what lies in the path. No ordeal is without lessons to be learned properly just as no experience comes without tribulation of some form. The fleeting dreams I once held dear are long sinc

Imagine you're me, don't know why you would want to be me, but just imagine you are. You're constantly and terminally questioning yourself in relation to girls, where you're still always going to ask why you do what you do and how it will never amount to anything. How it is to be something lesser than a girl has ever been with but you show more than you ever have to anyone else before, but they don't understand, they don't see that because they're used to more, they need more. You're always left in the dust, you're too much hassle with not enough passion, you're boring, and you're a waste. Now imagine that you find a girl that is incredibly