I write for my own relief. When emotions run high. And I don't have anybody to turn to. Its not that I don't have friend. There are many of them who claims to be my friends. Its just that.. you know they mean well, yet I know who I am.
I am not making sense. I never did make any sense to those who know me well. So I just don't care even if as I type my fngers are trembling and my cheeks are flushed. And even if these temporary simple happiness comes as rare as rainbow on a dry spell.. yet it make me feel... alive. I couldnt and wouldnt explain more. Because if I did. Would my secret came tumbling out? And people will laugh and pointed at me.. telling it serve me right? Or.. they will shakes their head.. telling me it wouldnt be as I want it to be? So let me be in my dream state as long as possible.. even if every other night tears come... or every other hour I knew that reality is harsher.
Soooooo.... I will just be old cynical yet sometimes foolish dila again. Hurray for foolishness in a person. It makes them young somehow. Yet I feel old.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
I was hopping and surfing through MSN webs when my eye caught the below headline under a Science page. Wah wheee! Malaysians archaelogical f...
-
So people are like eh its not the end of a decade, end of a decade is dec 2020. Whatever. We ignore this people. Nearing towards the en... -
Why does my heart cried Feelings I can't fight You betrayed me But just don't deceived me And please believe me when I say I love yo...
1 comment:
what happen dila? what have you done? is there anyhting bad happen to you?
i don't understand at all...:(
Post a Comment