April 16, 2003

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  The hip, the fads, the crushes, like grains of sand through my limp fingers. There’s a clock on the wall, the hands drive like mad, blurring time before my eyes. I lie there on my bed, starring up at the fake stars and blues lights. Suddenly I feel aged and tired. I talk of nonsense in a high acid voice. She (my mind) laughs, calls me crazy. I smile, that’s what they all think. Time flys by too quickly for me, even the moments I wish would end seem to rush by beyond my expectations. I feel so silly, so weightless, and yet so pathetic, waddling in my precarious boat of life, heedless and reckless.
  
  

  I’ve grown dependent on music. The last time I proudly proclaimed my immunity to music while doing homework, now I’m addict to it. I do homework with headphones on. I walk with headphones on. I sleep listening to ghostly whisperings of voices, lingering in my dreams. Everyone loves music, but still I hold a desparate desire that I and only I tasted the flavors of music with an unsatiable tongue. It’s that eight-year-old little girl sitting in front of her stereo listening to Mozart. Lights down, eyes closed, ready to dance. I was an adorable child, really, I was.
  
  

  I’m twenty-six now. Where did the eighteen  years go?

  
  

  

  • 12:13 am
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