I think I'm finally in the right mood. I'm "home" as in at my own appartment, with no one other than Kevin to accompany me. And this is certainly how I prefer it. For the past four or so days, I feel as if I have had a fuckton on my mind; but no outlet of any sorts. Last night I managed to take a two or three shots of coffee flavored liquor and two beers before leaving Jax's basement in Central City, and I can't say I left sober. Though my father was still very much awake by the time I had made it home, I found myself getting about another two beers in by means of sharing secretly with kevin.
      You know you're drunk enough with you blurt out your racial slur of a password in front of a room full of people and then giggle about it excessively. Somehow, I still found everyone laughing at me. By the time I laid down for sleep, I was too tired to consider much... But I did ponder a conversation I'd had with my father over dinner, and whether or not I was allowing a certain person to think of me in a certain way; a way in which I cannot achieve thinking of the same person. Though I'd be a liar if I didn't say the consideration isn't tempting, it's maybe even sweet. But I can't comply.
     Just hold my breath, and pass it off... pretend like I'm made of stone until the coughing makes me succumb to the feeling of being a weak bitch. Sometimes, I'm afraid of being nothing at all but a weak bitch. Not even bitch as in female, bitch as in someone who accomplishes nothing but complicating the regularity of other people's live's. In a few weeks, the weather is going to start to change... And there will be a familiar smell in the air, similar to something I've smelled before, but never just quite the same. It's a sort-of reminder to remember where I was and what I was doing "x-amount" of years ago. What angle my body was positioned with, what puzzle pieces is rested against before it had fallen into place. And if you have to burn my crown because I can admit it, I still can't say I'm sorry.
     When I think about it, it might be the strangest situation I've ever involuntarily been sucked into from means of friendship, or worse. "Not now" I hit as I think about it, as I realize I don't feel like thinking about it. I mentally press "Not now" just the same as I had using my mouse and watching my screen. I feel like most of the concrete-bricks I helped mold in the past years, as well as set- have begun to slowly crumble apart. Into pieces, like gravel, and the noise of it crunching might be the only thing I hear on a much-too-longer-than-appreciated walk towards a clear head and calmed heart. Most of the concrete bricks, no names etched in, become nothing to no one but a damn memory. A snapshot, mostly forgotten as the cars push the pieces more tightly together, under the pressure of the body weight of two, or three, or more.