It is quite amazing for what one can turn to when there is no soul to bond with, nor a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold – simply fragmented voices in one’s mind. Music playing in the background, lights dimmed with a tint of darkness, a pack of cigarettes to arouse the senses, and of course, a paper and pen to spill one’s mind upon. All contribute to the retribution of a grieving soul. The longer I am ashtray from you, the deeper and more reclusive I feel, could this explain the blague sorts of moods? Now I am not sure why my fingers itch to write this, this source of such depressive spell, what could’ve triggered such chemical reaction? An attempt at self-examination perhaps, I mean a simple glance at the comments section, most would simply overlook this blog, but then again, in a sense it helps, I’m not mourning, bitching or whining for that matter, it’s an expressive way for me to re-align my mingled emotions, and be prepared for another period of whatever shit, life throws at me.
-Kay
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