I woke up this morning to the sound of the dainty raindrops on my window-pane. How lovely the sky looks, steel grey. All the buildings and all the trees seem to have been reborn, fresh from a heavenly bath. The wind sighs contently, as the breeze blows gently by my ear. No sounds of cars or other machines this morning. All I hear is the chirping of birds. A smile fades gracefully from my face, to be replaced immediately by another, just the way one happy thought fades and re-forms into another. It is because of mornings like this that I am happy to be alive. What a perfect time to stand close to you and whisper, “I love you”…

…but it’s such a pity that I don’t.

What would I give to be away from here – away from what life has become?
I don’t remember the last time I heard the chirping of a bird. How sad.
My body’s here in tranquility, every bit of it except my heart, which every now and then suddenly beats faster for a few seconds, reflecting perhaps the sudden occurrence of a frustrated thought – a silent scream of pain coming from a wild soul put on hold…

Often, I’ve thought that I don’t give a tiny rat’s ass about what people think of me or of the things I do or why I do them, as long as my own conscience is clear, and as long as the people who matter to me have the right idea. But lately, I’ve come across people, who I think ought to have mattered, and they’ve seriously misunderstood me or have the wrong idea of certain things about me, and I’ve given up, more or less, trying to convince them otherwise. It’s like I don’t give an even tinier rat’s ass about what people of me anymore, and scarily, this includes people I wish would know the real me, and like me, and think good things about me… so, what’s going on?

1. I can’t be arsed to try to convince them of certain things. I do it anyway to a certain limit, but people believe what they want to believe anyway.
2. People should have a right of opinion, and unless someone’s asking me to justify myself or someone wants to know my side of the story, it’s not really worth pushing it onto them in the hope that they’ll believe me.
3. I’m getting to grips with the fact that perhaps no one will really completely understand me. The girl I dream about has no face, and that’s probably because the looks don’t matter to me, but I always assumed that she’d be a perfect match for me because of how well she’d be able to know me… I think I’m also beginning to accept the idea that I might never find her.