Wednesday, August 12, 2015

The thought of not having a black pen to use this morning branched out another thought that is: People could not even return the pens they borrowed, how would we expect them to give back the hearts they stole?

Deep.

Being early at the office should mean productivity, but since I have a lame excuse not to be the tiniest bit constructive, I have chosen to escape my way through writing my emotions out. One sip of my cold latté, and I know what kind of cycle this all is.

A-gain.

It might be a different time, different place, different person, but it’s just the same sick story.

Segue to the history of it all, I’d rather not spend a second to this for the umpteenth time. I mean, I better not. In my head, I’m throwing the telephone, smashing the desktop, ripping the papers, punching the walls, hurling the chairs, kicking the tables simultaneously because I am so mad I just want everything destroyed.

Not as destroyed as I was, though.

When this day ends, I just hope to get my pen(s) back so as to avoid these crazy thoughts. Whatever happens my heart has become steel that my everything has become numb anyhow. So note to self: Just enjoy every fucking moment. YOLO.