I think about dying but I don’t want to die, not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic, there’s so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m wasting every second, even now I’m writing this when I should be out there. I should be living. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell I’m doing or how to get out.
Wait for someone who bumps mouths clumsily with yours cos they’re too busy smiling to kiss you properly. Yeah. Wait for that.
I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.