electric
Sometimes you have awful writer’s block for a week, and then you pound out 1400 (good) new words in a single evening, and feel like you have even more right at your fingertips. I call this feeling electric.
words.
sometimes it feels like words are all or they’re nothing. words can be a decider of whether you give someone another chance, or a chance at all in the first place. words are the foundation of a friendship, all relationships we encounter really. you know that state of mind that you feel there is so much in side of you but none at all is coming out? sometimes i don’t care for words. sometimes the words i hear hurt as awful as a knife and these words they can come cutting in seconds and i never got how a number of letters strung together could have so much of an impact or the lack of could tear you apart. sometimes i feel they come all at once, out of the blue and you’re not able to keep your mount shut and others they are pushed down the back of your throat to rot until you no longer believe in the voice you have.
and i feel that what if it never matters how we feel, how i feel. feelings seem so irrelevant and so personal that i could feel the hearty aches and noone ever feel what i feel when i walk by you and that you may not take time to notice but i could fall apart if you say hi so bluntly again. sometimes i feel that if i feel this awful and your not willing to take care of me, or at the most take note that i’ve know you longest that it may have meant less that i was ever your friend. and you know how you try and swallow the lump in your throat when you can feel the tears? what if you’re that lump and you are the tears falling down of my face? and i feel that it will never matter that every night it doesn’t matter what kind of a day i had, it will always come crumbling because you are a stranger to me now. and i feel that i feel so much and that it will never fade, no matter the amount of which you have faded right from my life. and i feel that if i have grown up knowing who you are and now that you’re not any of that i will never not feel sad about you.
“I felt like it was unreal and not the kind of unreal you say to try and recreate unsaid slang but the kind of unreal you didn’t feel everyday, the kind that was so far from reality but was reality!”
and i can’t even grasp it, the way i love music and how it creates it’s own moods, feelings and gives you back the memories you wanted to forget about someone. and you can smile like a goof or cry like a baby but you’re still aching with the chords of the guitar and dancing to the drum beat. when the instruments fade for a second and there is just vocals,
i could pass away.
is thinking a disease we all suffer from? thoughts they seem to infect us, they determine and change our minds. you give your self headaches thinking when you lay your head at night and the infection feels to be spreading and that you will soon be too wounded to go on. are we all born with a disease disguised as thinking that tears us from seam to seam? or are we too stuck in our own thoughts to notice or care
Writing my heart out and nothing hurts.
(Source: lovely-maknae)
when we are alone it could mean less that we’re not surrounded or with the one or two people we feel know us best. we’re not so much stuck with ourselves, a limp body but who we are, who we think about, what we know and wish too. we don’t have to sit and endure our own company but our thoughts, the memories that begin to ache when our mind isn’t so much focused with the nine to five jobs and our cliché destroying relationships which tend to crumble no matter the effort to rebuild walls. it doesn’t matter to me that i’m by myself but that i am to remember what i don’t have, i once did hold and that letting go isn’t seeming to fill the crater in my desert of a damn heart.
