Wednesday, 5 March 2014

Dear Diary: Misanthropic

I know not what i truly feel... it seems each day i am extricating myself from my thoughts, running away from them before they run wild themselves. The attempts to reign in my muses are more futile than ever, my mood fluctuating between extreme highs and lows. I do not like what i see in my head...i do not like it at all. The mirror is a deceptive trap, telling me everything is perfectly fine where in some depths unknown every part of me is screaming against this injustice, the veniality of it all.

It is said that one should not expect much of this world at all, for in living humans gratify themselves, which in itself really bears no wrong unless it is regarded the sole purpose of this evanescent life. It would be rather tragic, if one reaches a phase where he no longer believes in any form of human relation beyond superficial investments. I have been disappointed time and again, to a point where i question if there is purpose in hoping after all. I suppose that is the very definition of hope, looking forward in the face of all odds. It defies logic much like love does. Perhaps it would be wiser if slightly delusional to accredit people for what they do, to give them the benefit of the doubt. It makes us feel hopeful, happy even. Or perhaps... perhaps i have no right to be saying any of this, the ignorant young lass that i am. I dare not place much expectation on any singular relationship, for fear it disappoints. But subconsciously i suppose i must have, for me to now feel this betrayal so keenly.

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