a blue guitar, a set of stars, or those exactly who they are
I feel oppressed, oppressed and oppressed.
I know nobody actually cares, but now and then I remember something someone said, and wrote, and it's not about me, it's never about someone real, and most of the time I don't care myself.
but. now and then.
suffocating. as if I can't exist. it's the good thing and the bad thing all rolled up together: nobody cares. they don't have to. it's good that they don't. but sometimes you think they don't care, and they don't, they just have an opinion.
and it's not a nice opinion.
just a bit too much.
I know nobody actually cares, but now and then I remember something someone said, and wrote, and it's not about me, it's never about someone real, and most of the time I don't care myself.
but. now and then.
suffocating. as if I can't exist. it's the good thing and the bad thing all rolled up together: nobody cares. they don't have to. it's good that they don't. but sometimes you think they don't care, and they don't, they just have an opinion.
and it's not a nice opinion.
just a bit too much.
16.04.2012 в 18:00
16.04.2012 в 18:04
спасибо.
<3
16.04.2012 в 20:48
16.04.2012 в 21:00
<3
But I didn't meant it the way... the obvious way. Not the good way. I meant it in the 'nobody cares if you're this or that' way, you know, or something. Not that somehow gives a toss about how I feel, not talking about that; but the thing I'm concerned about - nobody cares about it. uh. And it can be a nice thing, that nobody cares.
And sometimes, not so much. Making you feel... invisible.
anyway.
16.04.2012 в 21:16
anyway))