Great Expectations.

Equipped with nothingness on hands except for time, I'm attempting to write something of absolute surrealism which of course, makes no sense, to some that is.

When the rain came almost abruptly this early morning, strong winds were howling at their loudest. And like a romantic, I stood where I stood, when everyone was fast asleep, I lit up a cigarette in the midst of it all. I felt the winds vigorously sweeping through the gaps of my fingers, every strand of my hair. I felt complacent at the thought of the sight of me standing under the sky before it rained. The crimson skies on me, my feet on the ground, everything which I was unsure of myself came to a realization again. That me, was such a love, and I do love myself, and it's not anyone's fault that they don't, because they do not know me. Or perhaps, like what some has said, that I'm too hard to fathom in order to be loved. I will not forget this moment.

The almost touching lips, you could have been much more than a dream. Alas, you are a reality, but a reality which I could not hold onto. Because my ticking minutes are precious, and we do not and won't walk well on each's path. So I have to bid you goodbye here, once again. Let it be another three years if it shall cost. Your simplicity interests me, at the same time, it bores me. I can't understand the complexity within your portray of simplicity. That, I do not say you are not bright. That I meant, perhaps not my field of studies, neither my league to love. I didn't wish to kiss you, because I was unsure what would have come after just one kiss. I need someone more, someone whom quite a lot thinks like me, functions more logically than me. That I've yet to known any, who is capable of protecting myself from me.

I feel as if I have so much to do, on a more noble note for this world instead, all the times.

Very so often, the life of an artist is short-lived. Their emotions were often over intense that loving themselves evolved to a submission to their own fantasies and indulgence in their own emotions - narcissism, depression, rather than caring for their basic needs - the human touch with people, behaving like a normal moral being, and think like one.

You can always read me like a book, but I would never tell you that to completely understand this book, you would have to observe the spine first. That again, is perhaps another forte of mine, lying.