The passenger parallel to me has been writing on her notebook the entire flight. It’s amazing. She probably never stopped writing. I used to be capable of writing with pen and paper for hours and hours but now my hands can’t manage the stress. My hands get strained easily; which brings me to wonder how many other things will I love but eventually shed off. Like a thief in the night, there are changes that take more than what the eyes can see.
I was talking to S earlier. I feel like, the recent D thing has gotten me closer to S because I would open up a lot. Sometimes I wonder if it’s only me who feels close to her. I feel like a vine trying to wrap myself around her. I’m so clingy, I know.
Do you figure?
I told S I feel lost. I told her I want to cry but I have grown incapable and my lack of release is taking a toll on me. What i didn’t tell her was what i noticed, that it seems like my episodic ‘what the fuck am I doing‘ and ‘how the hell did I get here‘ moments are happening more than the usual. I’m scared I disperse too much. I really do want to be collected.
I can feel my heart breaking, my lungs being squeezed out of air. My chest is clouded. I re-opened the playlist I made for SGpush. What a different place and time.
I also asked S if she thinks I’m immature. Judging by the things I’ve shared, my thought process, I wanted to know if i came across as immature.
She said I’m just super impulsive. I agree. I’ve been impulsive for a very long time. Impulsive is how I’ve been since I can remember. I’m not sure if I’m getting worse/improving, depending on how you look at it, but I know it has grown.
I asked again, what if impulsive is who I am? Shouldn’t I just embrace it?
Maybe that’s who are. But who knows, people change.
Maybe choose the situations when you’d be impulsive. You might scare people off.
Then she said something that bothered my impulses. I guess it really doesn’t matter, how harmless I am, how kind I be.
People are not used to impulsive.
Shit. It’s so embarrassing to admit how much I went all in on her.
PS. Anyway, here’s a photo of my shoes post-Neon Lights. So gross, right?
Also, that’s her. The girl who writes her heart out up in the air.