I think back to the reason that I started blogging; now that I have kind of stopped. I'm starting again though, because I remembered why I started writing in the first place. Because I had a lot on my mind and it was January. I don't think the month had anything to do with it though. So I wrote. And then I stopped.
And now two months. It's winter. And the season does have something to do with it. Something - I don't know what though. Some things I'll never know and I had to let them go. But. I can't pretend that I can't see this. Because I do. And with these eyes.
Now I think I'm taking this far. It's not your fault. It's purely yours. Oh I just figured it out. I'm writing again because of a fault. Damn. I can't say I'm sad. I'm just being ridiculous. I live my life. I get up in the morning. I leave the house. And I walk fifteen minutes down the road to catch a train into town.
And it's great. Because I always sleep in an extra five minutes or so in the morning. And that's great because I miss the express to town. But that's cool. And the train ride is always amazing. The seat don't all face the same way. That has nothing to do with it. By the train reaches the stop where I get on it's usually full - in the sense that each double-seat has at least one person in it.
And it's great. I'm not very picky about who I sit next to. I always get on the front carriage though because you avoid the riot when you get off in town. And the story begins. One day, somehow, I managed to start a conversation with the person next to me. And that's where the story finishes.
But that day. Was rainy. And a Thursday. And that's where the detail starts. Because I feel over-private about this matter although there is no reason too. But it was amazing. I was bored of listening so I decided to occupy myself by looking at stuff around the room. The smell of formaldehyde was really getting to me. Weird to say; but I kind of liked it. Kind of like petrol. But yeah. But when I turned my head there was just this specific something.
Actually. Amazing.
"I climb, I slip, I fall. Reaching for your hands but I lay here all alone; sweating all your blood. If I could find out how to make you listen now. 'Cause I'm starving for you here with my undying love and I. I will."
