Untitled

Random crappy writing.

Windy. Cold. Dry ice in my chest. Whenever I sigh, it gets colder inside. It's the feeling of regret. Frustration. Disappointing outcomes of a presumptive love. Presumptive because of silly suppositional incidences. I feel so down. Thinking about those words, the touch, the approaches, small distances between us just feel so right until realizing that I'm just fantasizing myself with those little and no good things that I am the only who is seeing. They were sensational to me. Felt like a "soul mate" thing --we're having the same feeling. The way I am crazy for you is just the same craziness you feel about me. Falsehood. I feel dumb. I liked it but felt sad about it. I'm feeling those things again with someone. I wish I don't love like this.

Reviews

[Wolfwind]

Even self titled crappy writing can carry potent emotional relativity that others can relate to and find understanding within their own stratified pulses of the heart. So I will say that these words carry strong value along the lines of equatable musings.

Great Ink! Keep it up!
Aaron