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Surrealism
Surrealism
A small, tan coloured book, completely unadorned. The binding is worn and aged, the pages slightly tattered and curling towards the edges. Several small notes peek out here and there from between the sheaves of parchment and pieces of torn blue silk mark places within.
Monday, 03 September 2007

I am sick of being continuoulsy questioned...with no real answer to provide or to be returned. Once again I feel it all slip through my fingers and I am powerless to control anything at all. I wish I knew a way forward through the fray...I can't seem to catch onto anything to get a hold of my bearings. I dont want to be confused and lost anymore...I have spent so much of my time that way.

I feel like I am repeating myself, in everything. I repeat my words, my actions...my mistakes. Why do I not learn from the things I have done? What do I want? When I sit and try to consider the possibilities of my life I have completely lost sight of any goals or ambition. I dont know who I am anymore, perhaps that is why I am running so often, why I always run....perhaps, through all my insistance I am only Cel....I do not know what Cel is at all.

At least I am consitant in my idiocy, I have that...consitancy. Life is a series of decisions, in my case a series of poorly made, disasterous decisions. I want to make just one move in my life that does not result in someone, or something, hurting. It cannot be that hard, other people do it all the time.

I have all my life ahead of me, and all the moments of it left to choose what I want whenever I want to. Yet, I feel so utterly trapped...trapped inside myself, trapped inside the self perpetuating destiny
Celestia posted @ 06:51 - Link - comments
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