Minuscule Diary entry

I wish I could scatter all parts of my brain into something vast.  This happiness could spread as far as the sky and beyond; these vast acres of my happiness spreading out large between the different spectrums and hues and grooves and rhythms.  Calling out as my hunger is, as physical as it could possibly be.

So why am I hungry, you might ask? It is because I ate early and will sleep late. This void in between will be filled with pangs of hunger so vast, almost as vast as my happiness could possibly be,

Wow that was some deep shit I wrote. Possibly under the severe effect of you know what. I don’t idolize and celebrate the habit, as much as I used to, when I was younger. I just take it all in. and realize how bloody good it used to feel. Yet, good as it was, it also created this huge hazy illusion of perspectives. Like truths that were created in your affected mind, truths that are far away from the real truth. Things you believe and feel all jumbled up and getting further away from the real thing. Make-believe feelings don’t go that far out, so somewhere you are bound to stumble, like suddenly getting slapped by someone you least expected from.

This feels good. Writing feels good. Things I write down for myself to read later. Maybe I will try and write a paragraph each every day. Maybe that will never happen; maybe tomorrow. 

And now a random picture of me with a waterfall for a background and suede boots for shoes.