It seems like no one will ever be enough. No one can wake me up. Its just not possible, my feelings are buried. Sleep, sleep sweet child I once said. Because I wasnt ready. But that sleep, I think it led to death. I slept myself to death. I slept myself to a big room of nothing.

I want to be honest with you. I want to talk to you without any secrets, I want you to know the full story. But I cant because you're part of the problem. You're part of my mess-up. I used to think that happiness had no substance but today I took my words back. Because happiness, the real kind, the one I felt today as I sat on that armchair and stared outside at the shining roads, the passing cars, the houses full of stories, that happiness was infinite. And you're not a part of that. You dont feel those things, those little details that make my world make sense. I need the world to make sense, I told you. But you dont understand, you cant. I know you want to, I see you try, but you cant, you just dont get it. I see the world through metaphors, I feel things, Im searching for a wake-up call. And nothing less than that is enough. I cannot conform, I owe myself that. I promised I would never conform again, and I'm breaking that promise. Because you... you're not right. I still want you in my life. When something happens its you I want to tell, I want you to know. But thats friendship. Thats the real friendship. And i've confused it for something bigger. And I took your heart. And now I'm holding it in my palms and I dont know where to put it; we're responsible for those whom we tame.

I told you I was complicated, a contradiction, a major mess. And you said you didnt see that, you didnt believe me. But this has no point. Because I dont feel, and I dont see a purpose. You're a safety, the stability I wanted. But now that I've attained it, it feels purposeless. Because you cannot conform for the stability that isnt yours. This isnt my shore, I need to go back out into the ocean. With the waves, the wild and reckless. The ones that are still seeking.

My sister watched a documentary today. About love. Apparently, on average, peoplelove from 6 month upto 3 years. I told G about it and he disagreed. He said love cannot be measured. Love is not something to define, its something to feel. And then I remembered S. Саша.... I wondered if it would  feel different with him. Whether I'd wake up. Or  V. Would it be any different with them? I feel nothing, towards anyone. I used to, Саша used to feel so real. But now I've gotten myself into this story and i've lost all my feelings. Im not sure i could feel anything towards anyone. maybe i love being alone way too much. but thats temporary. because when im alone i begin to feel so lonely. so so lonely. and then i want someone, it no longer matters who, just someone who can hold me and make me feel okay. but its not good enough. i want to spin. and instead i've found stability. a safety. i wished for this you know? my birthday wish, i blew out the candle and whispered love, soulmate, G...

I’m so tired of holding on, so tired of wa iting.
I need to feel something real, without it breaking.

I always write the same words. i cannot even escape from that. naked contradiction, i write. that defines me. a contradiction. i dont make sense. i am so fucked up inside. do you think i'll ever come to understand you? he asks. i dont know. how can i know, when i dont understand. i hope. but if you do, will you stay? there is nothing inside me that supports anything. no feeling comes in correlation with another, they're all just there, contradicting one another. a wave has covered me and i feel sad. why? because i read something sad, sad words of a sad person. and i reacted. wave of sadness. i felt it, too much. i feel it physically, inside my chest, the pain. as if someone is gripping into my heart, squeezing it. let go. naked contradiction. i never write anything new. there are secrets around my neck. secrets i have never written down. this is just a website, just a window out there, into a big gap of nothing. but those secrets sit around my neck, writing them down would be too outrageous. rebel. but i dont. i always liked radicalism, extreme ideas. they attract me, they feel alive and i need that feeling. but some secrets, they just wont come out. and they're radical. they are extreme. they make me. naked contradiction. nothing can make me make sense.