Sunday, July 16, 2006

happiness is the idealist's point of view

jenny was a girl who thought that love would salvage her from reality. she had little hopes and dreams and she hid behind a masquerade that few can break.

she was sick, ill and slightly twisted. she knew her emotions so well that she knew that it could devour her in every way possible. emotions became her excess baggage that even she could not comprehend her own emotions.

she sat by the winds. it made her feel different. it made her feel like at that one moment she was meant to be in the exact way that she had been. she didnt want to feel any less.

life was a rollercoaster.

and everyone else had conformed to a point she hadnt understood. she looked at her green veins, like trees, they looked so replenished. she couldnt grasp the concept of falling at endless velocity that spun by time and gravity. she couldnt accept the incomprehensions to why she was a misfit who tried to fit everyone's perception of normalcy.

everyday, she felt that she was dying.

she told him but he could never understand.

at times, she felt like she was better off as a person who never lived. she never remembered making a choice to continue.

the green veins felt heavy on her wrists like her sins did. who had decided that what she did was wrong and others had gone the right path.

was being emotionally-driven her very weakness? she slit her wrists and slowly smiled. now, she would know it felt to succumb to what they called a weakness.

now, she would see.
now, she would understand.
post-mortem. isnt how she feels what we feel every single day.

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