I'm a mess yesterday and I think I need more time for my run. I just don't think sixteen minutes is enough. I just realised that I'm a bad writer because I frequently repeat one same stuff in a same moments. Like 'Anyway' or 'don't you think'.
Newsflash. I don't know who I am, well, not anymore.
I told you on the previous post that I'm no longer bitter, I'm no longer that person chasing down memory lane and chanting "This will be mine again, this will be mine again" or "I'm not running away, I'm one step closer to my definition of perfect." I no longer do that. I said I'm no longer pushed by the future but I wish I had a little push right now. I said I've moved on but I wish I didn't move. I said I'm my own constellation and that a star has fallen, for a wish had just been granted. It's not mine. Is this what they call regret? It's like I've jumped into the freshwater without checking the temperature, nothing and no one in hand and luckily it's cold as hell. I think I've fallen for something that I think was warm, fuzzy, chills and butterflies and sparkle when you twirl.
I thought I didn't see bitterness and vulnerability in the description. I wish I didn't have a heart right now, so I can't feel what's rotating inside me. I wish I didn't have a brain so I stopped over-thinking. I wish I have a shallow memory so I can put you off my mind for a bit. I wish, I wish, I wish.
I do, do I?