Nat King Cole.

Does your reality make you someone whole? Or does it make you lesser than complete? Mine's slowly killing me. Which is why, I'm always choosing to close my eyes. For if I can't see, I should be able to keep myself alive.

Someone has once told me, that I'm too true to myself that it hurts him. Or more or less like that, I couldn't remember clearly enough. Does anyone really come close to feeling my bones? Do I even need to waste my time on any other skeletal? When your spine is just as good as his/her spine.

How is it possible for a 25 year old to be liking Nat King Cole? The vinyl, the old records, the holga camera, and everything in retrospection? Because in the sixties and seventies, everyone around you feel like humans. Passionate about lives, love and lust. Lust, you heard me, at least they weren't denying it.

I've been mad reading, the more I do, the more my heart aches. It was bittersweet and I couldn't explain it. So at loss I am for words, that I feel like crying. I had thought of writing a long letter to Andy, but do I really have to? Does anyone enjoy receiving letters these days? It was so intense, that it's melancholic and I'm turning sadistic. So much that it hurts, how do I even let you fathom it? Or are you able to?

I couldn't be wide eyed to another round of disappointment tomorrow. And my heart is telling me I will. I am the least priority. And forever I will be, alone in my own cold realm. I've heard a thousand of lies, and have come up with a million of em myself. Who is to tell me what's what and what's not?

I had seen and imagined a scenery unlike ones which I've remembered. It was quite empty, yet it felt like I was having everything. But these everything doesn't amount to the weight which they should deem hold. Something was inadequate, something was immaculately rid of. I do not have any slightest clue on why the hands of time only move one way and why going the other is impossible. I do not remember who I was four years ago when here I am trying to relive it. I'm too tired, to wake up every morning with this artificial faith the sunshine never fails to bring, yet only to be greeted by this kind of contradiction and confusion every night. I need a new life, but what do I need in order to transport myself to a new genesis?

What do you really know? Do you really know as much as I do? Do you think you know because you think your reality makes you a complete person?