Of importance.
Of significance.
Of presence.
Of existence.
I need to write again.
To tell.
To show.
To reflect.
To mutter.
It's all haphazard in the brain. Unorganized. In shambles. With no road I can pave in between the clutter.
Even my post today has no definite form.
It's all too easy.
It's all too complicated.
I don't want to just delete things.
I want to have memorable moments.
And be able to relive them.
Basking in the spontaneity.
Being reeled in the sea of emotions.
Have I really forgotten how to feel?
I don't even want to look back at all the sentences I've just jotted down.
I don't want to look back and dwell in mistakes.
I want to feel. I want to feel being alive.
And just be myself. But alive.
Not dead. Motionless. Passionless.
And just be myself. But alive.
Not dead. Motionless. Passionless.
But a passionate me is a highly strung persona.
Of the highest high and the lowest low.
I just hate being a girl, actually. Such emotions. Pfft.
I will not be a perfectionist procrastinator grammar feminazi and scour the post again for mistakes only to find ones and redo it all again and again till I lose heart to post.
Of the highest high and the lowest low.
I just hate being a girl, actually. Such emotions. Pfft.
I will not be a perfectionist procrastinator grammar feminazi and scour the post again for mistakes only to find ones and redo it all again and again till I lose heart to post.
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