how tired i am of myself writing about how tired i am. i hate the fact that i am always tired, but there seems to be nothing i can do about it yet, except sucking it up, swallowing it down and digesting it through writing. sometimes i thank God, for at least i love writing, it helps me cry but also stops me from crying too much.
there are some fears in my heart that chill my guts. i am so careful because i am scared. i apologize to people who aren't fair to me because i have lost the power to fight, i am sure that i have got the right, but it is too pricey.
words are my little swallows, the happy prince, too, is more than just a statue.
Fantine haunts me. Victor Hugo surly has created one of the most powerful tragic figure. it is so strong, first she has lost her hair, and then her front teeth, at last her dignity. it is only too heartbreaking that some sacrifices seem so destined. :(
my skin is bad again, probably because of the pressure from the wonders on what the future carries.
no matter how we are, or what we have, i will always narrow us down into something funny, even though i am extremely serious, i do that to make me light enough, so to wander on.
i have to admit that i don't enjoy watching FULL minibuses pass me by, especially after i have made the efforts to walk such a long way. it is wearing me out. i wish i can afford a car. i live so far away, from most things or people i love, yet it is the only good place i can afford.
maybe God is just trying to give me what i don't have, namely patience and being on time. :)
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