nya if you don't wanna cry

i can hardly tell her words from character's
this, to be honest, scares the fuck out of me.
I'm afraid to miss some key point eventually.
knowing how stupid and slow-thinking I am, this is more than just possible.

by the way, on my tags.
"green" means the same to her, as it does to me - since sixteen.
nice.

about WHAT THE FUCK I did tonight.
ah, anyways.
it was nice, and that's all I've got to say.
to write.
to think.
a nice evening. this is it.

(we came alive on the moment we met)

just finished Drawing Blood
well, at least now I have an idea why she likes artistic people.
in every other aspect, the book didn't seem to be worthy of my attention.

started reading Drawing Blood today:
for reasons any close friend of mine can effortlessly figure out.
really dislike Poppy Brite's writing, tho.

why is she not replying to my text messages?
is it just something very common, like 'out of money'? after all, texts are a bit more expensive in this very case.
or is it because i annoy her and she's bored of me, like i feel deep inside?
the latter seems more likely to me, to be honest

stupid me - to have believed this message would change something.
anything, in fact.

also, stupid me - to weep in the cinema theatre watching Masquerade and Second Breath. music from Masquerade started the business, ending of Second Breath made me burst into actual tears.
made me remember my worst fears, actually. my worst squeaks, most extraordinary nightmares, all the things which make me cry out loud at night.
funny, it was supposed to be full of light and happy ending!

to not forget - what scared me in this cartoon was the way the old man was returned to life. is it only me, or is it really not actual life, what he got? it is dependence over his cat's breath.
the thing is also about the bloody guilt. the cat is not going to forget it, cause he has to keep his man alive. he can't leave either, because his breath is what is life-giving here.
but what cracked me down was that they will never talk anymore, because you can't really talk while constantly blowing out wind, or can you?
yes, I guess that's where I started weeping vigorously.

stupid-sounding word, stuck in my wonderfully logical mind.
it's no fluff any longer, it's fucking cuddling
"hatred burning bright in brown eyes with enemies for fuel" ©
no enemies though, only my damned foolishness, for which this person is not going to text me anymore.
John. Oh, John.

coming back to this journal
again and again, ah, Discord!
(sorry)
and maybe on buying a new scanner and finally drawing something.

Just finished reading Robin Hobb's "The Dragon Keeper" - the first book of The Rain Wild Chronicles.
I was always a fan of Hobb's writing, ever since the Farseer saga. Her characters are so vivid, and the world complex and balanced.
I felt strong resemblance to Alise Kincarron Finbok. Though I'm not a scholar in any way, but still. I like her devotion and her ability to adapt to the circumstances. And the way she feels about subjects that charm and interest her.
Waiting for the package with the second book, "The Dragon Haven", now...

without noticing it. Now I wish I had never started aging since, like, 13.
I'd still be able to smile while watching a movie,
my favorite kinks wouldn't have turned into (basically) porn stories,
and, on top of that, my Shadows would still come to me.
Sometimes they haunted me, sometimes they upset me, sometimes I struggled, reaching for some real life -
yet, it's them who were the life to me.
I never needed an Y to my X, after all.
I just need a Shadow of a real Y by my side, when I am walking alone with wind in my hair.