can't actually bear the thought of dreams coming true.
let me go back to sleep, dream all day.
but then again, reality can be equally addictive as imagination,
once it has reached the same intensity.
(after all, i love writing literary essays, just not really now, and not really including looking at all those sophisticated lot overintellectual, sophisticated
people have noted down before. e s p e c i a l l y not in front of this nerve-wrecking machine wanting to suck all my insides out. apart from these, i guess i've always loved thinking, and it hasn't changed ever since. i'm just not doing it properly.)
intensity is the source of all devilish. once it's upwards, i don't bother realising the tricky nature of it, just give myself to this beautiful weightless, mindless, deeply instinctual levitating of actually being able to succeed in everything i start dealing with.
and when obsession is over (as it HAS to be over), then comes the meltdown, so rapidly, i don't have a chance to grab control, as that is exactly the same, systematic improvement - on the negative side.
what goes around, comes around.
i just can seem to step out of this circle. my full circle.
and i still have no idea what exactly i'm goint to do with you.
or what you're goint to do with me.
r i dd l e
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