:: 32 still counts ::
sometimes i think that memories are just made up images in my head, that nothing that has happened, to this day, can hold the title of a real thing._ things just change so suddenly that i have no time to think about whether or not they were really a part of my life._ maybe nothing has really been a part of my life, maybe all that happiness belonged to others,for others to see, to touch, to feel, to hear, maybe not for me, maybe not here, not now, just then , just there._ but how can one tell the difference between a real thing and a fake thing? continuity??? that has to be a load of crap... you clearly cannot trust the world to remain the same for two seconds, and if you can't trust the world, surely you can't trust people, and if you can't trust people, you can't trust yourself, and, if you can't trust yourself, then, there's really not much to think about now, is there? thinking may not be the best thing, feeling is clearly the worst thing one could ever imagine doing, trusting is impossible, writing makes no difference, silencing oneself is no different from doing anything else._ it just depends on your mood, and your mood depends on everything... now i'm back again to "what am i to do with all this fire?".
coming in through my ears::nothing