Martes

Have you ever just written for the sake of writing? No purpose, no substance to it, just a futile attempt to remain sane. To not feel your brain turn into Quaker's Instant Oatmeal and it pouring out of your nose after a long day at work.

I wish I could say...

The things you already know.

What I really think about you.

The confession that dies behind closed lips.

How deeply you hurt me, and that you are forgiven.

But, you already know what you do hurts me.

You've known every thought my heart has fluttered at the sound of your name.

Why confess what was never a secret?

It's tuesday night. I'm very tired, physically and mentally. I haven't been sleeping well again lately, back on the insomnia kick, 3 hours a night for almost a week now.

I wish I didn't expect so much out of people that really don't have either the time for me or don't really care about me deep down. I'm tired of begging. I deserve better than what some of you give me. In the end. The ones that love me, I can count in one hand.

In the end I guess I should know better. People always tell me I'm too nice. Maybe I should be a bitch, which goes against everything Yari is. *shrugs*

"I celebrate myself, and what I assume you shall assume; For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you." - Walt Whitman