Here it is again, that strange resentment for everything that surfaces every once in a while. Perhaps it's just PMS, but I find everything and everyone hateful.
I haven't been able to read in a while. Not because I don't have the time—people make time for things they really want to do—but because I can't. I'm looking at my books now, and they feel alien to me. I want to throw them one by one across the room, tear their pages, and burn them until they all evaporate into smoke. Why are they here? Why do I feel like they are not mine, that somewhere along the way, they have made me unworthy to peruse their pages?
The truth is, I want to be friends with my books again, to hold them and not feel rejected. But why do I feel this way? I miss reading so, so much...please, Lord, let me read again. Please.
I feel so lonely. Please...
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
You come to me, running with tears in your eyes and your arms longing to embrace me my hands, shaking drenched in blood, touch you for the f...
-
This song hits me hard, right where my heart is. I'm sentimental, so I walk in the rain I've got some habits even I can't ...
-
I must have smoked more cigarettes today than I had in two months. The Hail Marys have come and gone from my lips, but still my heart feels ...
-
for my dearest M let’s forget about the fancy tables for now the candlelight, the flowers, even the stars let us make our way instead to...
