I Hate My Limitations

I need a book.

I need a book like someone who needs heroine.

I need a book to scratch me apart from my frustrations and apparent jealousy albeit apocryphal with regards to my logic. I hate these times - the points on the course of my understanding when I face my rigid walls stopping me to look for more with my senses. These are so frustrating I feel my knuckles hurt once more.

I need a book to drown myself with the character's own moods and bother only them since it is obvious they all have their endings at the very back page - unlike mine, at the edge, the view is vague like cataract. And those endings can satisfy me, fill me to the brim (or maybe not). At least I know there's the denouement.

I need a book. I need a book even though it's just some online text. I would dry my eyes in front of the monitor until it cries physiologically out of tiredness - not because of dear emotional tiredness. Yuck.

Actually, I hate posts like this one for I hate posts like this written by other people. Wow, that was weird. I know what you should be thinking right now: "Ah, some piece of language I can never relate to again. Next please."

One thing is sure. I love the idea that I'm still thought about and share with someone the same feeling of frustration because we are both anxious of doing and acting anything beyond what is now. Eeek, I also love the idea that sometimes, I can be controversial. Hahaha. Nothing love love chu chu ever churva here.