in search of my own "great perhaps"

she leaned on her coloured hairlike a butterfly wing in a summer rainfall

flightless bird, american mouth

i fell asleep listening to this song the other night.
and i woke up with fresh tears streaming down my face.
i'm not sure if i fell asleep crying, or if i'd begun to cry in my sleep.

i hate how much i've been like that lately. these tears of utter melancholy are so frequent that i'm beginning to wonder if i'll always be like this.
if this deep sadness is just a part of who i am.
i don't want it to be.
i want to be one of those people that are constantly happy and wake up looking forward to the day. i want to laugh and smile and really mean it.
i want meaning.
i want this hollow void within my heart to be filled. i want to be satisfied.
but. how?
i'm scared of constantly waking up and not knowing what day it is. of being somewhere and having no idea to how i got there. of not being able to listen to what anyone is saying to me.
most of all, i hate how i can only admit these things to an electronic device that really doesn't give a fuck if i cry in my sleep.

so for now i shall continue to simply nod along and pretend to be a mass enthusiast of life.
a facade i'm all too good at.

i just need the glitch in my brain to be fixed.

thou shalt know who thou art

this is you. eyes closed, out in the rain. you never thought you'd be doing something like this, you never saw yourself as, i don't know how you'd describe it... as like one of those people who like looking up at the moon, who spend hours gazing at the waves or the sunset or... i guess you know the kind of people i'm talking about. maybe you don't. anyway, you kind of like being like this, fighting the cold, feeling the water seep through your shirt and getting through your skin. and the feel of the ground growing soft beneath your feet. and the smell. and the sound of the rain hitting the leaves. all the things they talked about in the books you haven't read. this is you, who would have guessed it? you.

-my life without me

truth like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold

you push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. you kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. from the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it'll just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream.

-dead poets society