:##So…I don’t have really anything to say…in English. Speaking this language makes me feel weird…but still good, though. I am not from here (London) but I feel here like at home, better then in my country. I love multicultural metropolis. I love tiny streets and ugly women.
What’s wrong with me? Sitting like this, not having anything to say, anything to click about. I guess our Bridget-Hero always had words to describe her depressions. I am just breathing out and in- probably cause I cant stop.
We broke up to days ago, I am so angry at myself – I’ve already managed to tell it to the half of the world- and there is no place for grief anymore. Only emptiness is left.
I would love to have a rat. What for am I writing this anyway? I feel like a rat. Closed is cage of reality, fucking grey life, full of an-fucking-pleasant circumstances.
I just feel like spinning is shit. Nothing can touch me, nothing wants to. Life is passing me by. I wake up every morning and put my “nine to five” coat, I am tired I want more, but I am so lazy.
One and a half year & living together. How did this happen? Am I so uncomplicated. Or is it just my path I have to go thru. Fuck. I am stepping off.