Head Above Water

my common sense tells me i should not be acting like this. letting my mind travel while a cross a busy highway, pretend not to hear anything when someone calls my attention, try to kill enthusiasm... but i think the worst is creating my own bubble to walk around in.

For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart. And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more. -Oscar Wilde

...how troubling it is to stare at one's eyes. when i feel it takes less than ten seconds for anyone to see what lay behind mine. my senses are not dysfunctional, perhaps they have failed to fulfill their purpose at the strength of my will. i have been told my voice sounded boring and monotonous; that i could talk for merely five minutes and have a person doze off at my dry speech. i find it amusing that i would not need as much effort to keep people out of my business; but im surprised at how good im getting at pushing away others.

[hope is such a bad thing to destroy. i always deemed trust difficult to build and easy to lose, but nothing is worse than dying hope. what started as a promising chance at a new life now threatens to seize whatever life i have left... and i wonder if anyone in the world had any idea how stupid i felt.]