So I got up with a hungry stomach. Only all too aware of the darkness in the room. The morning sunlight was not letting through by the deep blueish black blind.
It's funny I was awaken because of that when what I really need is to get an 8 hours sleep to be fit. Not 4. I rest assured you I'll be a zombie later for the day.
And so I got up to be reminded that he1 was talking to she1 so happily while he2 was not exactly talking to she2 for all the churns-out from his mouth was only a word liner. OK, the most three. The beginning of the story is the same. Why is the content so different?
I said, I'd rather have you stopped me. Stop me from goin astray, from getting all the butterfly effects in my stomach. And you did. You did it so bloodly well. There's no more hearts and flowers. Because I'm now lying on my stomach writing this. In its place is a very empty kinda despondency that is only inevitable. Sigh. But....there's always a but, you knew it only too well. And you chosed to keep it in your pocket under the sleeves. I couldn't reach.
There are times that i think maybe it would be for the better; it is and it has to be for the better. But then in those quiet peaceful past-midnight hours of staring at the ceiling wall, and the contour of your body you left on the right side of the bed, I can't bring myself to repeat the thought.
It's always bout the little things, isnt it?
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