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Monday, February 21, 2011


As kids, we blew bubbles and when they burst, it was like the end of an era. We'd chase them, like dreams, run in circles behind them and when they popped, because we were greedy, us trying to catch them and feel them if they were real, a part of us saddened immensely. But when you're kids, you run after another bubble, another dream, another pop without giving it much thought.

When you grow up, you become rigid. You want certain things. And you want them a certain way. And you don't budge. That's the complexity of growing up. You stop saying what you want, you just expect the world to get it. They know you, they're supposed to know it. But I don't! I can't comprehend what you want from me. Whether it's space or distance or the invasion of that privacy. Is it my time or some time off? Do you expect me to hug you when I see you or wave? Why chain me in rules, why can't anyone, ever take me for what I am? An overtly emotional, hypersensitive, excessively warm, slightly insecure, very possessive human? Someone who loves with all she has, someone who would give her life for her friends and someone who'd take a life for her parents. It's simple really. Nothing complex about me at all.

I like to be cared about. And spoiled rotten. And pampered. And loved. It's funny, when we're hungry we don't hesitate in saying, I'm dying of hunger; when we're tired we don't feel awkward saying, God I am sleepy as hell but when we feel like we're not being loved enough we never say, I'm starving for love. But love is just as basic a need! There. I said it.

You figure me out and you make it so much simpler for the both of us. I hate calls on waiting. I hate waiting for someone to come online. I hate waiting in general. I hate it when my toasts gets even slightly more stiff than I want it to. I cannot stand the coffee if it's not strong enough. I hate pretending to ignore you or not want to talk to you because let's face it, we both know it, I do want to talk. I hate brbs that change to silence when I had something to say. I notice every tiny thing an individual says or does. I get happy when I see a comment on my blogposts, very much so. I am jubilant when someone takes the time to type me a mail, it's almost as good as receiving a letter, almost. It's like someone that day wanted me to know what is up with them and would want to know what I'm upto. And they had the patience to type it down for me and not just mutter a what's up on a chat.

God. Too much of I like this and I hate that.
The point is, nobody's even listening; are you?
Nobody really cares. 

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