I think I've worked out why things are always so different at night, why we are given
the feeling that everything is so fleeting. It's almost like you have some kind of time
limit; a ticking clock at the back of your head reminding you that although the night is still young, it's also going to die soon. Maybe with that thought you subconsciously carry yourself throughout the night as if you'll never live for another night again.
It's beautiful. At night things feel so different to me, as every minute passes I think about how my time is running out and everything needs to be done right at that very moment.

I was too young to appreciate you

But I do miss you.

July 11

I write on this paper like these words have somehow saved me
Like they could have some kind of impact on others
I don't know just how far I am from the truth
But my naievity is relentless
My words are a blanket to my persona
Shielding me from the monster hiding under my bed
The monster that once existed in my head
Standing between me and my will to break free
Trying to corrupt my heart
But now it is no longer
I'm not kissing the lips of hopelessness
I can't feel this creature breathing down my neck anymore
It ceases to exist but I'm afraid he will rise one day
So instead of waiting for his return
I hold onto my words like they are the cord to life
And then I throw them into the world
I'll cut the line between you and your thoughts
My bible of redemption is no longer mine
It's yours
And I'm not vulnerable
I'm something more
I'm everything that you could ever doubt
Everything that you could ever feel
Maybe even what you're afraid to feel
I'm the lightening ruining your sunny day
A rainbow peaking through the storm
I'm a fleeting moment of clarity
A perfect answer to resistence
Something a little further from destruction
I am whatever you think me to be
I am the end of my world
But I am also the start

I'm always surrounded by my empty glasses of tea. They stare back at me each night, mocking my sheer laziness and apathy.