The shifting gears in my mind isn't really functioning like they're supposed to lately. Of which I am unable to define into depth of an approximate time period assigned when I used "lately." I've been questioning the motioning of everything to the point of no return. I sometimes these days get confused and question why I walk with my head held high and sometimes trips on air. I stopped appreciating the sky now because the motioning clouds puts me into a state of unexplainable melancholy?
In my possession, there are almost 35 something unposted letters on various papers with various shape of handwriting that I believe are no longer valid. Letters are like that: the contents are invalid as your letters evolve to illegible waves. I can't even bring myself to write letters even in moments when my core just begs for me to write to someone. The thoughts that invades me at night no longer barks. They move.
Every passing days when I am standing in front of a public phone, dialling dad to pick me up from school, I'd always have extra cents because I'm a pretentious shit that always puts in 50 cent instead of 10 even though I knew I'll waste the 40 cent. I feel bad for doing it sometimes. I always had and always will want for myself to dial up someone's number, perhaps someone I know because there's two person in my mailbox that I need to reach back but I never had such courage nor the time to do so.
Time is the fourth dimesion, yeah? I sort of came up with a diagram of time like the matrix inside the chloroplast of a plant. The jelly stuff where things happens and I don't know. I know I am alone somewhere pressed between the thylakoids. I watched videos about plants and how they live on their own and photosynthesize their own food because they don't eat like living things that come with either soul or heart or functioning minds or all of these does. Why is this universe such an empty void.
I hate aphorism just as much as I hate not possessing one track mind. Doors aren't jaws but it's close enough. Physical aren't equivalent to pure intents. Tangerines sounds like tangent. Circles ends on a note when we decide not to walk anymore. Lights refracts this bullshit I wrote into you like blurs of distorted aphorism. Help me. I don't know how to make you understand.
