Fallen back into sin.

It took me a lot to start writing again – it’s like I lost my ability to translate my thoughts into words. Or maybe I’ve stopped thinking, maybe.

I’ve been considering reconsidering (not a typo) my priorities in life but then it struck me that I have no priorities in life at the first place for me to “reconsider”. Well I guess my #1 goal right now is really to earn myself a scholarship that can get my ass out of this house but I am at least 15 months away from that, and that doesn’t even mean I have my priorities set straight. Nonetheless, I’ve been starting to attempt to buck up because I thought better make this two shitty years worthwhile than wasting my time being under captivity, right? So yeah, watch me.

Someone noted that I look a lot paler and moodier recently, and that came from the most unexpected someone ever. I am not too sure whether this is supposed to make me feel grateful having such friends, or disappointed that people that ought to have noticed didn’t. But yeah, I guess I’ve been feeling quite detached recently. It’s like DR starts haunting me again whenever I stop blogging, stop stopping to reflect and think.

We are apparently a month away from semester exam. This hasn’t really hit me (but then again the fact that O’s are over and done with hasn’t even hit me yet) so I guess I’m a tad bit far away from reality so they hardly ever get to hit me …?

This is getting confusing. Maybe we never should have. It’s like I’m starting to see clearer but I just can’t wake myself up entirely. MoV quote comes to mind….

But love is blind and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;

Gabrielle Aplin is just … so perfect.

Here’s my new favourite poem:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Hope by Emily Dickinson 

 

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