k.ೃ࿔*:

hi angels

this is the internet it girl's diary

xx

it's a summer afternoon, i'm in the capital city and i've left my diary back home. so i will be blogging the fleeting, drowsy days i've spent in a blasé here.

as i think of the incandescent summers passed by me: playing mermaids with my friends, coming home to freshly sliced lime and green grapes on the clear glass counter, alabaster peeking through, i wonder what changed. maybe it was the uncanny and sinister wrath that the 2020s brought along with it. lonely, i have been floating through the days, pondering the inconsequential fleet of idle existence befallen upon me.

sometimes, i stew about, amongst the scathing-hot bubbles of my tub, in my childhood home. my birthday-cake scented bath obliterating the grotesquely thick-and-slick tropical steam forming all around, foaming up the mirror, obstructing my view of myself.

holding this thought, i also hate my birthday. the night before my birthday, even more so. i always tell myself to keep low expectations from people. i don't talk much either. failing, because the human mind is only as powerful as we allow it to be, i cry. i cry all day, and i cry all week. like in the song 4 morant, "i cry from my eyes to my feet."

on the contrary, i love birthday-cake flavoured stuff. two conflicting statements can be true at the same time. but most people don't believe in that philosophy. i was thinking about this because my birthday was 6 months ago, which means it's 6 months ahead. i already feel the looming dread of it. the oscillation between the past and present never seems to forego of me. although, i now know time is not linear and every thing happens at the same time.