from my position sitting on my favorite old wooden chair, in front of my old desk covered in paint and words and paper and memory cards on the side of my room directly across from my bedroom door, all i can see out my bedroom window are the naked tree branches stretching their cold fingers to the heaven desperate for life, and it is honestly kind of depressing. oh, and power lines; i can see those from here, too.
tenth avenue north is playing over and over in the background and every now and then i'll sing a note or two along with them, because my lungs need to get some feelings out but they can't just say it, don't know why. i'm also trying really hard to write a letter that is so long overdue, among other things.
i have a little carousel music-snow-globe thingy that belonged to my mum when she was younger on my table and it keeps letting off high pitched notes randomly without me touching it. eerie.
life feels just like how the sky looks today.
every time i move to a different position my chair wobbles a little bit; a fairly accurate picture of my emotions right now: adjust your heart? oops, almost lost it there. hey, hang in there, sweetie pie. yeah, no, your ideas are sure failures, don't say anything. keep quiet. you're brilliant. you're dumb. life is wonderful. life is too hard. it's okay. nothing is okay. focusing on the positive voice has been an all new level of difficult.
this is life? life is messy? that's such a cliche saying. but life is cliche sometimes. i don't know, i could really go for some pizza and dark chocolate and new places and faces and summer and seventeen and five and a phone call and stupid memes to make me laugh and coffee and the ability to paint and to preach my heart and anything but now. //
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