the shit hits the fan.

today is the day where i want nothing more except to go home, watch RENT, and fall asleep. cut out all contact with civilization. there's no dictionary definition to explain the turmoil inside of my stomach, whirlwinding through my mind. the question lingering is who is to blame?

you: to be honest, i want to be to do this, but i'm incapable. even with all of the valid arguments of you were the one who continued to press forward without yet leaving the past behind. i eagerly obliged, but can i say that you should have known better?

me: this is where the blame is always put, most often by myself. even though i was completely aware of the situation at hand i still continued to lead you into a web. "the talking leads to touching, the touching leads to sex. and then there is no mystery left." i was aware of what i was doing, but with the slight hope that the consequences wouldn't be so dire.

desiring for this to be resolved would be a giant leap. i don't know where the fuck to start.

the brief.

i have poured everything of myself into rough scribbles and words drawn and written on scrap pieces of papers and the screen in front of me, eraser shavings and pencil indents, backspaces and edit buttons. i wish i could undo and unravel and dream and write and immerse myself in nature and never let go of anything ever. and there are moments when i look around my environment and realize how utterly beautiful everything and everyone is. and i feel like a dust speckle floating aimlessly around in the wind, and seeing the world from a bird's eye view. i could never describe myself in three words because the workings of my brain are a mixture of light and sound and pain and love, all at once circling around like a carousel. i have this cycle where i continuously meet new people, but never create a bond and they go as they please and it's painless and numbing and i like that. i realize how the world would be if we exchanged our souls with each other and have control over bodies other than our own. i have hurt so many people and for that i am truly sorry. so many people have also hurt me with darts and needles that were stabbed into my heart. and wounds have healed. but lessons weren't learned. almost everything i ever think about or talk about is random, strange, and incomprehensible. and no one can understand why i ramble on and on, but that's okay. because i write and i act and i love not for others but for myself, i have the privilege of owning myself like everything else. but, i get detached and question, every single day, who the fuck i am. i still have no clue.

-flb.