jingle-aya.

And I wait. But not for the last time. Sitting. Sitting. Frowning. More sitting. Anger. Happiness. Frustration. Jealousy. Repeat.
All the things going through my head and the feeling like I keep getting punched in the stomach is not something I want to explain. Which I can. But I won't.
It took me two hours to fall asleep. Then I woke up again with a start at a dream that I see all to vividly in my mind. Because stuff like that has happened in my life. And it's not fair.
What kind of world is this if it's a blessing that people can walk after a surgery?
What kind of world is this if people are thankful that they don't freeze as they sleep on the streets?
What kind of world is this if people who prance around stabbing people in the back can just keep on prancing?
Nothing makes sense.



There's this thing called passion... and I have a little too much of it in my life right now. It drives my thoughts to their very limits where I can barely keep my voice from escaping my throat. Because that is how I express myself.
My voice.
Either low and shaky, or high and sweet.
A voice not my own, but one I recognize all too clearly.
And I will never be done expressing, but at the same time I've lost my caring.