My head feels twice as big, but no painkillers.
Still, I ran a little around six miles today in 75 minutes. I’ll do the same again tomorrow. I don’t care about the distance but the time. However, I wonder where I could have run. If someone tells me the road is open, I picture a vast space that leads to anywhere, and yet it seems like I prefer to spin my hamster wheel behind closed doors.
I like to envision myself amid daylight with a clear head, but the rod cells in my eyes are more dominant than the cone cells; therefore, my perception is slow sometimes during the day. It’s becoming more and more apparent these days.
I’ve kept my mouth shut for two days. I can’t think of anything more soothing and safe, no white lies or other filtered talks where I feel the mask’s heaviness, which is pulling me down. Its itch-inducing substances irritate my skin. I’ve been feeling itchy lately. It’s so hard to take care of my sensitive skin.
People usually get the opposite of me, no matter how hard I try to show them the real me.
You tell some people things you don’t want to share, and of course, they throw it back at you with criticisms that you’ve already applied to yourself. The last thing you want is to hear them again. Here’s the art of keeping your mouth shut.
After so many years, I watched The Crow again, my favourite fictional love story encompassing a justified reason for retribution. It makes me want to work harder on getting my feelings back, but I don’t want to lose indifference as a friend. You’ll never know what might happen.
For now, the window is open, and the road is clear.
I’ve been running faster and faster in the hamster wheel. The faster you run, the more likely you’re going to break it. Never will it occur to me that I only have to step off and go outside. It’s not that easy. I have to break it.