The unbearable lightness of being

It's that feeling you can't describe between melancholy and sweetness. It's the times you were caught between longing and loneliness, on the edge between growing up and holding on. The delicate art of not knowing if you should laugh at the wrong things for just the right reasons or cry for people you honestly don't care about. It's about the people who wake up at 3 in the morning because there is nothing they can do. The knowledge that this feeling of normalcy, this state of being is alright but all wrong.
I was meant for other things. I really was. You were too. All of you. Whoever you are. I love you too.

It's like the nights after I read Fight Club, where I'm caught between sleep and fits of wakeful unrest, where my subconcious won't let me rest because I'm doing it all terribly wrong. Where I'm becoming just like everyone else but I'm doing nothing to stop it. But thats okay. It's just a rebirth.

We ran across the streets, feet first and shoeless. Up and down, over and over and over again. It was fun and that's the only point. Happy birthday Bunji, Neeta. My feet were numb when I put my shoes on but that's what you get with the whole experience. Lollipops in hand, with no purpose in mind and friends by your side. Lunch first with people, some of whom I haven't seen in years. Nothings changed and this is one of those times where a constant is good.

Listen to Hey there Delilah on repeat in your dim room. Because thats the way it should feel.

I'm supposed to be at a party right now, I have to go.