Listening to my old Duke Ellington Memorial vinyl, pretending it’s autumn and not June, not to mention pretending it’s definitly not my birthday. I let the dreams fall between my fingers as I breathe, slowly. I don’t know. I can’t seem to calm myself, and there’s a cry longing to break from my throat, but someone once told me that boy’s don’t cry and therefore, neither will I. I am not weak.
Although I am.
I hate this. I despise this webpage. I hate the fact that I’ve had this blog for over a year, and I still haven’t rounded 100 followers - and I hate that I care.
I once dreamt that I would save the world; or the tiny part that wanted to listen to me. But I realized my ideas were wrong, and that I wasn’t able to explain them either way. Plus, there was always flaws, as flaws always will appear. And the world I tried to reach out to wouldn’t listen, and you still won’t. I don’t know why I am taking this so hard, but I am. It’s not the follower-thing. It’s the reaching I can’t handle. I can’t reach anyone, nobody wants to listen. Not to me nor anyone else except themselves - and I am a hypocrite for saying so, because I do the same myself, it’s the human nature. But my dreams are no longer with me, and I see no future.
I need a reason to continue. I just need a fucking reason.
But you probably don’t give a fucking shit.
I know you.
