Met Schoolboy Q. No big deal.
I feel so somber. Maybe it’s because of the events of today and the affirmation that life is terrifyingly short or the conversation I had, but I’ve sighed enough life out of me for one night.
"Urgh, can this get any more depressing?"
Five pages later…
You don’t remember what happened. What you remember becomes what happened.
There is really nothing more to say - except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how.
Clearly I need more friends with cars because being brought five packs of sweets at 1 in the morning is something I could definitely get used to.
I can’t sleep, which is a persistent problem of mine now and I hate it because nights are lonely. I was thinking I can’t remember the last time I wrote anything personal, even in a journal, and I think it’s because I feel my thoughts aren’t safe outside of my head and so in my mind is a cabinet where I store all my observations and offer a file of one word or two when the time is right but honestly the majority of me is locked away and I am quite like most other people in that respect, nothing special. Nobody knows what to do with information nowadays anyway.