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...
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...
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