thoughts

Too much just sorry

We are all sort of looking for something. To fill us up, to take away the pain. Maybe remind us, myself, of who i was once. Before the rules solidified into a congealed mess of responsibility. When the fuss was only play and spending time with friends. Not worried about autocorrect when passing notes back and forth in class. (Where's the note passing? What happened to the note passing? Now it's emails drafted for tomorrow morning, chock-full of red angry lines hungry for attention. I am hangry and nostalgic for what I am meant to do, when I know I am meant for something, and those moments only seem to make sense when they are happening. I suppose it's harder to remember those special moments when I'm busy, drowning, metaphorically.

the sadness is undeniable

it fills my veins and crowds my mind