31

Note to self:

1. You don't need to hate everyone to be independent
2.You don't have to hide all your emotions to be strong
3. You don't have to hate everything just to keep yourself from getting hurt
4. Not everyone hates you, merely a person or ten of them

26

I've felt all, hands, lately.
This doesn't make sense but imagine that you are standing in a group where you know no one and not saying anything and you don't know what to do with your hands.
You fiddle with them, cross them on your chest, put them in your pockets but it all feels somehow painful in your shoulders so you let them drop and hang on your sides.
I am feeling awfully like those hands.
I don't know what to do with myself.

24

I must stop saying that I am lost
when i know exactly where I am
I just don't want to find my way back

23

I'm sad.

In about hundred different ways.

Sad like the gray ocean, sad like a lonely lighthouse keeper. Sad like a nightingale in a cage - sad like you, when you see a beatiful red fox in the side of a highway,
not moving.

15

Blood blooms only for a second before the wound turns to a scar
and the only memory I have of it
is the thudding pain beneath my
ivory skin

#2

There was a young girl, 14 or so, sitting by a coffee table at a coffee shop.

Three candy wrappers in front of her, crumbled by the table, not in a particular order or pattern.

Just laying there, in front of her.

She had a blank stare and she didn't really look at anything, just looked.

Her hands were hanging by her sides and she looked a lot like a broken doll, left alone there.

There were a group of guys on few tables away from her, and her eyes lingered to them few times, but no wonder.

They were really loud, laughing their asses off making jokes about girls and whistling to those who looked good. I got sick of them after only a minute.

I was sitting by a coffee table, my mother beside me, holding a cup of tea in my hands.

We sat there in a comfortable silence for a while, songs of the musical we just watched playing on non-stop repeat on our heads.

I let my eyes lie on the girl, I made deductions about her that I have already forgotten.

A man in a thick jumper walked past her, pushing a baby carriage that had a white balloon strapped on it.

He was talking softly to the baby, and the girls eyes lied upon the horrible horrible jumper of his and I bet she must have laughed in her head.

Next time I let my eyes to that direction she was not there, but the three candy wrappers were. Neatly in line on the table.