a different kind of withrawal

Supposed to be writing film112 reaction paper and journ101's reading synopsis and preparing power suit for tomorrow's class under (yes, under) Sir Avecilla and browsing through Ma'am Holmes' readings and finishing script (which is taking a century to be transcribed). . .

But no. I am here for another complaint, another dictum that I need to exhaust.

So here I am.

In some sort of like/love withrawal. It's funny how the different forces at play eat your brain cells and morals up. It's like you want to care but you feel like it's so below you - but that just means that you don't (in the first place) because you just dismissed a desparate, personal suggestion.

Then you reminisce and all of a sudden you feel like fighting for making the feelings stay because taking the gamble means a chance at succeeding. Then you're scared so you don't take it.

Then you're back to where you were - feelings limbo. You feel the hugs, the kisses, even indulge in the sweet nothings but inside, you're on some autopilot of some kind. Like, you don't know what you're supposed to feel. Or if you should be feeling at all. Or if you should be called human, at the very least.

The only way out of this is if an outside force either hoists you up or pulls you down. You may be happy or not for whichever place you end up on but anywhere else would be better than some god-forsaken-vestibule of undiscovered feelings and forgotten passion.