I have a problem with words. I have encountered this burden throughout my entire life, but I hadn't dissected it until now. I have so many things to say, I know exactly what I want, but the words simply never come out. At least not in the way I want them to. Either the tone is off, the punctuation is excessive, or the color is dull. I can hear the echoing of my thoughts bouncing from one wall of my skull to the opposite, and god it really pains me.
Sometimes violins will ignite something within me that literally makes me water at the mouth, it can get nauseating at times but I surrender to the melody. Every tiny detail, every missable characteristic, I notice them all, and I take them in as though it were my sole purpose to admire and be captivated by the existence of x thing.
Is this unwise? To think my fears will not reprise? New Girl is a goddamn masterpiece of a show, even with the filler episodes, and with the incomplete ending (which I truly hope means another channel will reboot the show).
Why is it that I can't cry? Not a single tear is shedding, but I swear that if I stare at the wall in front of me for a beat too long, I can see myself weeping, heaving, completely crumbling apart. Maybe it is true, maybe my suspicions are correct; I think that i have unhealthy coping mechanisms, maladaptive daydreaming for starters. I have been obsessed with reading since a very young age, and I loved pretending that the characters were standing next to me as I read, I loved immersing myself completely in the stories, and so the hours flew by as I held conversations in my head with all these beautiful and enchanting characters. I tend to be obsessive, and I easily become completely engulfed by my emotions, a single note in a song will make me become unable to open my eyes for the remainder of the melody. I talk to myself in the mirror, pretending I am holding a conversation with whomever is an object of my affection at the moment, that or pretending that I am meeting somebody I've been dreaming of. It is weird, there are certain characters in my dreams at night that have become recurring. There's this group of girls, they are all beautiful and exquisitely unique, each bringing a different scent and a different color to the mix. We explore a small coastal town, it is cloudy and small, but it is ours, and we're on top of the world. These girls are real, despite them being a figment of my imagination and subconscious. They are so painstakingly real that I promise you I have woken up and gotten out of bed just to check the pockets of the jacket that I wore when one of them handed me her bracelet to take care of. Each time I am greeted by an empty pocket, but I continue to hope.
Then there's this boy. I don't think boy is the most fitting word, as he appears to be anywhere between 25 and 35 (I know, a LONG stretch), but in spirit, he is the boy of my dreams. Literally. I met him as I was scouring the streets of a pretty vivid city, on a particularly busy day. There were heaps of people walking, talking, living fast paced lives. Then there was I, wonder eyed and sporting my best crooked smile as I explored the reality my lucid dream had granted me. Oh, yeah, little detail, I would vouch that 55% of my dreams are lucid, and the recurring ones certainly have become oddly familiar, I guess repetition does etch things onto your memory. I digress. This boy, whom I don't know a name for, is so incredibly fascinating. I could talk to him for hours and hours. Most mornings I'll forget what we spoke about, but throughout the day I'll recover little fragments of our conversations, and I'll smile to myself in recognition. I have always wanted to write a book, maybe this is my sign to do so... maybe I can spark this otherworldly connection onto this dimension.
I'll tell you more about the boy tomorrow, that is, if I remember (I'll try i promise)
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