This morning I woke up at 6:27, I ate of Rice Crispies in the cold milk, I wash, I put some clothes in case and went to school. I took the bus that goes around longer and come directly to high school, so I have not had to move from the seat and I had time to listen to a song more, I took the bus back to the thirty seats and are returned home earlier than usual. At school today, there was no English and spent time in the pit with the class library to do little or nothing, plus I paid to my partner to counter some manga to read. Peaceful day.
E 'shocking the way my life after having been rejected, has become quiet. First he was a constant stress of parents and school that I did not understand, but after that first September trip to Venice was as if a storm had subsided. Before I did not see a way or in no particular order, but now all eyes on which I put in its place, and I can not but realize that it could not be otherwise. I made peace with the environment in which I live without it being changed nothing decisive, and this is very important to me.
As I said, however, has not changed nothing but this strange mental order. I can think of new ideas for new stories in a spontaneous and uncontrollable, my grades are better than last year, I even found someone who shares virtually all of my passions (should only be converted to Vocaloid, but you can not have everything) ... but I do not know why, but I feel a sense of discomfort.
not that kind of discomfort that makes you want to break everything and throw out all the guts: that is a reaction that would require too much energy ... and I just do not have energy, not to spend so. It 's more a feeling of slight tightness in the chest and annoying together, as if his heart had locked. Not in a ring of barbed wire, not in a cage, not in a cube of titanium, but in a cardboard box with a pretty bow on it. Something light light: I could take away the hassle by simply opening the cover, but I can not. We arrive at that cover. It 'frustrating and annoying, although it is good.
It 's time to finally ask myself, as a good writer and passionate reader of romance: when it happens to me?
I have always been used to start in underestimate my appearance, my personality, my intelligence and everything that I have appointed about myself. Comrades class began to make fun of in grade school because I get distracted very easily, after having spent the means to try to beat highly of what others think about me, I got to high school without knowing how to deal with complex I accumulated. Some days I look in the mirror and see myself as beautiful, other times I look again and I feel like a monster.
All I want is to reach that person who will open the lid. Or that the burn, or dissolve it, or that it destroyed ... no matter how, no matter who it is exactly. Only one person can do it, and it is the same one that succeeds in for each of us.
pity for me that will never arrive. I was not born for this, is not what I expect. I will stay alone and without that kind of love, as it should be, why am I choose to be myself, not listen to my telling me to wear fashionable clothes and makeup for the face look more ; pretty. I just did not bend my head, only to be a little something simple and almost odorless. Who takes the clover flower blossomed into a rose garden? No one, absolutely no one.
Seebaru
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