There are just times when you just can't hold it no more, and all you want to do is just kick everything around you, particularly that thing that stood silently near the desk and lie innocently as if it has nothing to do with me. When it has so much things to do with me.
I hate my brain for being such a crap about memories. Like I remember when it was 2006 and a friend told me that her sister only rinse her mouth once because she'd like to save all the good fluoride on her teeth, every time I brushed my teeth. And that the pink handle of my toothbrush and the strawberry bubble flavour reminds me of the colour of the perfume bottle that I used when I'm still with him, the one he loved so bad. Or that time when every time I smell my vanilla cupcakes body cream and wash, all I remember is the walk that aren't very far but felt so like it because the talk I had back then. I guess it's insane when I remember these crazy memory yet it's so hard to me to memorise several ayats from the Quran. Like when I used to reminisce on what used to make me laugh (but not anymore) or what could make me smile or simply fall in love. Not anymore.
This growing up thingy threw the old me to the cerebellum of my head and even though I missed the cheerful me, living with this thick wall built around her (still built, crashed twice, same knight), who thinks twice of laughing because she doesn't want to come off too cheeky. The no-regret me has been amazing though it's very tiring because it has been a constant up and downs and full of rebuilding things; trust, love, belief, anti-war scheme and an obsession on loving someone wholeheartedly. I'm tired as hell and my brain is still messed up learning der Artikel on German class today, secretly cursing whoever came up with the idea that a piece of paper is masculine and a bag is feminine.
I've been listening to Lana Del Rey for weeks now and I'm halfway with One Day. I know it's already filmed and it's my... I don't know, fourteen days of reading it and watching the movie would've cost me two hours only but the therapeutic feelings on flipping book pages and stopping to remember the last time I took off. I think Dexter and Emma's character was built for me and you, 91226. For me and you, because there won't be an us, and won't ever be an us.
I feel like quoting the book. Maybe later.
They say that the world was built for two, only worth living is somebody is loving you. I love you, I wish your live worth (...)