I've been speeding most of my free time in the daydream zone. when I'm not at the orphanage or with the Proworld crew, I'm at home...in my bedroom. the walls are painted yellow, the fan is lacking the cooling effect, my room smells like bug spray, and I've come to notice the ants love my bed as much as my body does. When I've run out of substance for my journal I lay here thinking of life plans. I start imagining a loft in salt lake overlooking busy streets. it'll have cold wood flooring and brick walls, a big vintage map over a huge white bed, purposely missing a box spring and stand. whether I'm living alone or with a husband, I picture this place as home, a lovely little home.
while laying here I start writing letters in my head to people I will probably never speak to again. I meticulously select my words, replay memories, and image a response.
sometimes I lay here and cry. sometimes the tears come from joy and some come from sadness. most of the sad ones are for other people. because if there is one internal feeling I, currently, do not have, it's sadness for myself. I cry for those who don't have a mommy to hold them, or for those who don't have working legs to walk them; I cry for grandmas who are in the hospital or for those whom just heard of their cancer diagnosis. and I always cry for the man asking for a table for one.
the happy tears have obvious reasons. listing them wouldn't do any justice. some happy moments just can't be written out through words. that's why we have feelings...for the times when words can not explain.
sometimes I feel like people are always trying to convince others of how "happy" they are by publicly submitting paragraphs and edited photos of how much more perfect their life is.
not always, but when it's real its genuinely appreciated.
after I have found my self in the lost and found daydream land I return to reality and search on tumblr
for an explanation..but again, it's never found,
some may get it
some may not. it's all gibberish anyway