Wistful Thinking


So here's a thing about me: I have 12 AM thoughts, 2 AM thoughts, and 3 AM thoughts - all of which varies from self-accusations, to hypothetical situations, and wistful thinking. The self-accusations, I usually tend to suppress because I refuse to continue making myself feel bad about things that already happened. It's such a waste of time. The hypothetical situations, however, are the ones I (kind of) enjoyed creating in my mind. It usually occurs right before I go to sleep. And the wistful thinking? That one lingers the most. It creeps in every day like a familiar scent in the air, or every night like a cold wind passing through my open window. 

My clock hit exactly 00:00 when I decided to open my laptop and type. I suddenly felt the urge to just tell a story about something or about anything. I kinda miss my 2010 self. It was a year after I graduated, I was jobless, nocturnal, eating once a day, and living in Tumblr. I remembered that I used to share so much of my life and thoughts on the internet. Necessary or not. Whether they're quotes I heard on the series I watched, the food I ate, favorite song lyrics, what I did or wore that day... I was always eager and had a story to tell. And I didn't even care whoever reads it. I just found some sort-of fulfillment in sharing them.

But not anymore. I've always wondered if is it because I grew up and I felt like I had to leave old ways behind? Or that I've realized I don't want to do it anymore. That I'm too lazy. That life caught up with me, and I cannot go on telling every emotional turmoil I had on the internet because the web doesn't really need to know every diatribes that I have.

Although, there is a part of me that wishes I still have the same drive to do those things, perhaps I should also be somewhat thankful that I learned when to shut my brain up. Because things can get pretty damn overwhelming and exhausting inside. 

This time, I allowed myself to breathe more. This time, I don't pressure myself that I should have an entry every week or every month.

Instead, I wait. 

I wait till the thoughts fill up my desolate soul.

I wait until it feels motherfuckingly alive to tell a story.





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