Sometimes, I wonder what you're thinking, or what you were thinking at some certain moment in time, or if you were thinking of me. I wonder how the gears in your head turn, if they're greased and running like a well-oiled machine, or scattered and broken, in need of repair. I wonder how your thoughts would look to me. Not just the thoughts betrayed by your guarded facade every now and then, but the innermost ones that have never been glimpsed, the dustiest ones tangled in cobwebs and old forgotten secrets, the darkest ones that hold your grudges, your hidden contempt, your broken pieces, and the flawed ones securely hidden in the deepest cages of your mind. I wonder if I'll look at you differently, then. Or if I'll look at you less.

Perhaps not, for, I look through a blind perspective and my conscience feeds on paranoia. I can only hold against you the subtlest of judgments and only when you start to be jaded and burned out, or perhaps, too high above the ground.

Sometimes, I wonder if you wonder about me. I hope you do. I hope you could take a look inside my mind, every hidden nook and cranny. You can stay there for as long as you like, but it's haunted as I am haunted.  I hope I could share my loneliness, but that would be unfair, then, wouldn't it? It's my misery, after all. But I hope you could see through my smile, into layers of dried up tears, old ghosts and fears. I hope I could show you how I think. I hope I could show you bits and pieces of me like how I cower when I see lightning strike but at the same time, feel connected to myself with the rain pounding away on my roof and the occasional thunder disturbing the placid disposition of the world during bad weather, or how I never miss the sun even on cold lonely nights when I cry with my shadow in an empty room. Maybe then you'll run away from the monster, that is me. But this world.... it is driven by hate, lies and endless cries, but nonetheless, by the loveliness of life. This world is strange. Maybe you'll stay.


But it's me. It's how I can't let myself melt into your delicate fingers. It's how I can't let the drifting wind carry my voice through your open window. It's how I live in fear of humans being...well, humans, walking away and  straying from the picturesque photograph that was the past, when everything else was said to be better. It's how I can't trust. It's this bitterness I've drowned in and the grotesque creature I've morphed into. It's me.

i miss you

You. Yes, you. 

Unless you're a complete stranger.

Hmmm. Or are you?

I think we've met before. 

I've met you in my past life, haven't I?

I can feel a ~*connection*~

Nah, I'm just bored.

But I miss you. 

You. Yes, you.

Unless you're Chryss.

JK I LUFF YOU CHRYSS!!!1!11!!1! 

i lilly lilly do. 

In other news, 

*insert emotions too unfathomable to plot on paper here*

hello there, sunday.

So today was a ridiculously bipolar day. Don't ask further questions. I don't want to relive even a second of it. On the bright side, though, I went school shopping!!!11!!1!11 School shopping gets me all hyped up 'cause I'm a dork like that. 

  

I just had to buy these lovely binders. It's ironic, though. I don't drink coffee, but I'm drawn to these cozy designs. I like coffee-flavored treats & that lovely coffee shop aroma clears my head. Oh, and coffee mugs. I like coffee mugs, too. 

mushaboom

1:29 am

3:14 am

This is why I'm friends with my friends. I've thought about it. I can't say that I like weird people at a single glimpse for the sake of straying from the norms, but they grow on you. They creep up and they plant themselves in an empty space, somewhere in your being, one that you never knew you had and then, you just wake up and realize that you wouldn't trade this one for the world. You also realize how you're not so ordinary yourself, but it's alright because no matter how much of a misfit you are, sticking out like a sore thumb, in this sick, twisted, stereotyping society, your strangeness is handled, somehow.

You get to not care what the cynics think, or the way they shoot daggers at you, and you get to listen to the few, better ones who have your back as well. It's a choice you have to make when you're walking down the street, surrounded by souls, cluttered and free-willed. 

skip this post {it's a rant, as always}

Allow me to pour myself out as I've been holding on to this bitterness for, oh, a year or so? 

I'm happiest when I'm with sprawled out in a weird position with a sketchbook, a pencil, and a playlist on repeat. I'm happiest when my hands start to hurt from staining my clean journal pages with my chicken scrawl handwriting. I'm happiest when I lose myself in a book. I'm happiest when I spend lovely late nights alone, or maybe with an hour-long phone call, making the nagging almost bearable. I'm happiest when I learn a new song on the guitar. I'm even quite happy when I'm at school, striving to ace a test, or trying to stifle my laughter during class, or bearing with unnecessary drama, but I didn't expect myself to get all worked up and bitter over a musical instrument deemed lovely in all its musical glory by thousands of musical geniuses. And indeed it is lovely and great and remarkable! I don't deny that, but the piano is honestly one of the deepest sources of my frustrations. Maybe I'm not on the right track of the learning process, or maybe I am what they say I am: lazy and unmotivated and no-good. 

I'm no-good at playing, I know. I'm unmotivated as well. Yes, I'm lazy. My room is messy and I don't bother to clean it. Yes, I'm lazy. I sleep late and wake up at noon and sit around, waiting for brunch to be served. Yes, I'm lazy. I'm a couch potato. And maybe I am lazy. Too lazy, indeed, staying up until 2 am to studying for a long test. Too lazy, indeed, getting worked up over one low score. Too lazy, indeed, stressing myself over academics, trying to build up a report card that will make you happy. Too lazy, indeed, that I still don't feel good enough.  

I don't know why I'm taking those remarks to heart. It bothers me that I do. Lately, though, I've been so frustrated. Imagine, taking lessons since 4th grade and I still can't even play a piece about "web-footed friends" or a mockingbird straight. I don't know to what extent I can stretch myself out this year. 

hi there

looks weird but....yeah

'cause i had a bad day

Keep Your Head Up by Ben Howard

Keep your head up, keep your heart strong

Keep your mind set, keep your hair long

• Trying to uplift myself from the dreary rut I'm stuck in at the moment.
• I fell asleep at roughly 3 am and woke up at about 2 pm. That didn't feel good. 
• I had a donut and some Piknik for lunch. I didn't feel good afterwards. 
• I've been having very vivid dreams for 4 consecutive days. They're bittersweet. I don't know how to feel. 
• I am having a throbbing headache and I'm starting to feel lonely again. 
• I feel utterly talentless when I play the piano. It frustrates me too much, and most of the time, I don't really like what I'm playing, but if it goes with learning, fine, I'll bear with it. 
• Forever in love with inanimate objects. They don't love me back. I'm bitter. 
• Cheer up. Your name is Joy. Be happy. 
• Who are you kidding, Joy? WHO?
• I have a neglected journal. It's calling my name. 
• I miss my friends. 
• I miss people. 
• I miss my friends. 
• I miss laughing so hard it hurts. 
• I miss my friends. 
• Ew, school next month
• But I miss my friends
• Summer, don't end yet. 
• Life, be kind.
• Universe, behave.
• I love you, chair. 
• I love you, bed.
• I love you, pillow. 
• I love you all. 
• Love me back xoxo
• Huhuhu 
• Here is sheer proof that I have no life.
• Lend me sweet dreams? No? Alrighty, then. G'night.
• Jk. I'll probably stare at the ceiling until 2 am. 
• Bye.