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"Don't leave me," pleaded she,

"where shall I go after?"

Nowhere, dearie- 

but what does that matter?

You will never be-

where there is laughter

though quite madly 

you will yearn

Don't leave me, 

I am quite weary

I can hear voices screaming at me

it is a sickening malady

don't leave me behind the metal bars 

in a room with no keys

where there is but a small window

that only seems to fit a grey sky

and sometimes ominously dark

with streaks of bright lights being predecessor 

of deafening roars of thunders.

But the voices remain clear,

So don't leave me

or they will one day drown sanity

It is already very hard to breathe

Air- has the room become smaller? 

I can't move from this corner. 

Where is this musty smell coming from?

The window has moved up too high I can't see anything

just hear the -

it is only my voice.

The rusty bars are a mockery of-

water inside my chest and outside!

don't leave me!

don't leave...

don't..

d-

Fear

Can one face something that so exceedingly shake him? Is it then, stupidity to voluntarily face that which one is so terrified of? I ...I dare say, it is now. Diffidence is a permanent weakness on my part. How is it possible for one to ever actively engage in a discourse with strangers? How is it possible, without..the constant throbbing of the veins, fastened palpitation of the heart and consistent self-demeaning thoughts, occasionally mumbling embarrassing comments that ought to not have been spoken at all?

I..just thought I could face it. I just thought...I will get over it. I just thought..it was a thing of the past. It is not.

I still fear.

I fear for tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. This week- I wonder if I can make it without filling the nights with tears. I wonder if I can tell myself what they have told me to tell myself last November- "Hey, I am not useless." I doubt it now. The people are different. The atmosphere is different. Everything will be different.

I ...hope it will be over soon.,,
so that I no longer feel intimidated..
so that those tears will no longer grace my eyes.

Why does this happen to me all the time?
..To be so scared of...people.

Seeing you

Lead to my misstep

I faltered. I was not prepared. 

Naught could have been more pleasant than your sudden appearance and the subsequent greetings, which, though abrupt, was.....

It's harder to recover than was expected. Beratement would not help. But at least, sense did not depart for long. 

So now I'll finish what I started- write off imaginations and indulge in their whims no more, being kept in leaves and bound in ink. And who is to say, the stone will be  thrown at me again? 

'True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain'

It is really silly- no, more of outrageous and I ought to be ashamed of myself! What kind of pubescent immaturity shows in that! Utterly disgusting and ineffably revolting!

I thank the heavens Sense has returned and turned away the afflicted idleness of the mind poisoning its host.

I cannot believe it myself. How I have speak of endurance! Goodness me, Mr Brain must have really departed for a time. Good heavens.

3am ramblings

I can contain this no longer. Is it possible that every atom of my being should crave for a thing so temporary? One might think it silly; I dare say it is silly. But can not the mind direct itself? Why should it be guided by some other thing not of our own being? Parting is rather sorrowful than sweet when it should have been neither. 

Those eyes are not cordial, nor kind, nor warm. So why do I make it so? Why not leave them as they are -cold, partial and monotonous? Does my mind perceive wrongly? 

I would I could find in my heart that I am what others perceived me to be- indifferent, nonchalant and rather unfeeling. My word! I dare say I do, rather than being of a sentimental creature whose inclination to strange habits of the mind only results in wasteful hours of daydreams. It has accumulated to the extent that grey bands and pledging hands will always be significant. 

But there are so many stars, never shy of your presence. 

And you- you're the galaxy of the brightest stars. 

There will be so many more stars, never devoid of your presence. 

I'm rather young, and have much to learn. But it cannot be denied- I'm just a speck of dust. 

In other words, an insignificant nothingness. 

Apt

“If so, my dear, I dare say you will meet again some time or other; do not be uneasy. It is ten to one but you are thrown together again in the course of a few years; and then what a pleasure it will be!”

Mrs. Morland was not happy in her attempt at consolation. The hope of meeting again in the course of a few years could only put into Catherine’s head what might happen within that time to make a meeting dreadful to her. She could never forget Henry Tilney, or think of him with less tenderness than she did at that moment; but he might forget her; and in that case, to meet — ! Her eyes filled with tears as she pictured her acquaintance so renewed; - "

Would you like a handkerchief?

"No, Sir. Thank you very much," or so I would have said. But instead, all I managed to croak out was a pathetic sounding "no". Well,

Romanticising is rarely beneficial but the mind poisons itself beyond recovery. It's mad, insane and knows itself to be so. The sickness is irrevocable. It's horrid. It's torturous. It's pathetic.

Well, at least, tomorrow, I'll have a break and have a little coffee with the bestie at Starbucks which has become our second home, almost. I cannot wait for  tomorrow evening!