Life is indeed a constant changes; I have no idea why being in England, living alone, intensifies the way I am feeling on every present moment as if nothing is nearly, it always reach the top. All out. Once I feel lonely, I feel lonely as hell. Hurt? Disappointed? Happy? As if I might die because of it. See, the more I think about it, the more frustrated I got, the less I am in control. It is quite hard to get a hold of myself, recently. Not that I ever been, but still, at least I noticed that now. Too many objects, and/or subjects, trying to play with my mind. Thus, in some sense, I can feel every tiny bit of changes within my bare skin all the way inside my head. I questioned, but hardly find any clear answer. And I am still questioning. This is not indicate I dislike the life I'm living, or giving any objection towards it. This just an individual explanation of something unfamiliar.
I'm staying, man.
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