Saturday

Because laughter isn't only the best medicine, it is also the best disguise

I put away the guitar for awhile, although my fingers constantly wish for them. I start having freak-outs again, and I have to count inside my head for a while or hum something soft just to let it pass. I have refrained myself from writing, too, because writing makes me think, and I do not want to think, though my mind just wouldn't work that way. It will be okay, I promise. And I repeat the stupid words to let it sink. Gotta figure out what to do.

Thursday

Soon, I am going to deviate. I can feel it again growing inside me, and I know what’s about to happen next. I am clutching my heart a little longer now. My grip - a little tighter. And my words aren’t yet ready to be found, but here they are. They say I’m transparent - how my face lightens up the room when I'm happy, or how my aura flies out of my body when I'm troubled. And I realized how clearly the word transparency gets often underestimated. There's still too much inside it, and believe me, you'd never want to see it. 

When regression won’t save you anymore, you’d do what you’re good at. After all, you are a deviant.