why . . .
is it that I can be surrounded by people, 'friends', loved ones,
and still feel so alone?
is it that the one who is supposed to understand me most not who he
really is?
is it that we all want to be so understood? by others? by
ourselves? does it really matter in the end?
i have a good life. i know it. i believe it. why am i still so
depressed? why is it coming back? why do i care for people to
understand me? why do people care? i hate this feeling.
it comes in, kono kimochi, uninvited, unannounced. it sits by the
red Victorian chair, the one closest to my aorta. it infects me; i
am no longer blank. but stark. i am stark.
doushite?
why . . .
is it that I can be surrounded by people, 'friends', loved ones,and still feel so alone?
is it that the one who is supposed to understand me most not who hereally is?
is it that we all want to be so understood? by others? byourselves? does it really matter in the end?
i have a good life. i know it. i believe it. why am i still sodepressed? why is it coming back? why do i care for people tounderstand me? why do people care? i hate this feeling.
it comes in, kono kimochi, uninvited, unannounced. it sits by thered Victorian chair, the one closest to my aorta. it infects me; iam no longer blank. but stark. i am stark.
doushite?
doushite?