nomads raped me blog, left my soul kinda feel searched and stolen.
've been re-reading my posts for quite some time (a thing i'd never usually do. My own words embarass me.), hoping all the time that my words did not deceive me. and that the truth doesn't hurt, even if it means its the secret no more.
4:37 London GMT
I couldn't even bring myself to stay in my dreams for more than 4 hrs
It's always 4, when hans zimmer start to drift into my head
even more unbelievable,
its the 11:37 HK GMT I'm more concerned about
the moment I snapped back to reality
felt angry yesterday, actually a rare emotion I didn't even recognize until now
hands inside military overcoat, MJ scarf hanging loosely around me neck
striding down brook street davis street oxford street then james street
in oh-so-wonderful jeffrey campbells
wonderful vision eh?
but its so cold.
and the london chill left my heart numb.
so done with waiting.
and telling yourself "well, i don't fucking care anyways" at the same time
because while your head starts indoctrinating
your hearts always silently murmurs " it means the world to you, and you know it"
amongst the wind-blown hair, the frozen heart
the warm surge of tears became my antidote
the wait is worth it.
but I'm done with hoping
when all I need
is not even you
but only your voice.
thank you for hurting.