dumb and colorblind
04 July 2009 @ 09:37 pm
writing here again. no one notices anyway, which is excellent.

i saw pictures of a friend somewhere. and it made me sad. there was a little pang that i couldn't explain, looking at the tanned, weather-beaten smile.

lines cannot be crossed. i knew that from the start. this one more so.

it'll be gone soon enough.
 
 
dumb and colorblind
07 June 2009 @ 10:32 pm
 sad fact: you're not going to come around.

this is me being honest with myself. i want to talk to you, but i have nothing to say. business talk, maybe. but not much else.
 
i think that talking about it helps to some extent, but most of the time, i don't know... i hardly pass off as believable. what i want, really, is to be unselfish and nonjudgemental about all this. to be empathic, but guarded. i know it sounds conflicted, but that's what i want.

i think maybe it's no good talking about it at all.
 
 
 
dumb and colorblind
14 September 2008 @ 12:07 am
how shall i say this. where do i even start.
i guess this is the state i am in: words are trying to leave my mouth and they fail utterly, they fall like dead leaves and rotten twigs. what, really, what more can i say? this is not an axe you've dropped. this is a line you cut and you kept me hanging. but i should've seen it coming. this is a disfiguring scar that ripped and bled. this is me in the wind, severed.

i can't begin to ask if i still matter. a question that never bears answering.

i can spell traitor with my fists against a blank wall, but what good would that do?

there was a road and on that road was a fork, a turn.  i should've known we weren't riding an endless highway under an eggshell sky.

so this is how it goes. we fall flat. just like this.
 
 
dumb and colorblind
10 February 2008 @ 08:02 pm
this is the second time. a glance shot is an arrow shot.
we can't go on like this.

or can we.
 
 
Current Location: marketplace
 
 
dumb and colorblind
28 January 2008 @ 11:15 pm
An t-éan bán ag eitilt gan stró as do bhéal. Agus mise I mo sheasamh faoi do sholas géar. Na síoda ag titim barr do theanga. Níl mé abalalta na focail ceart a rá leat.
Ba mhaith liom na sléibhte is airde a dhreapadh agus na focail a bhéicil amach os cionn na scamaill is airde. Nior fagadh na focail agam. Grá mór, grá fior, grá an domhain, is é an grá is laidir. Tá mé I ngrá leat.


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