why am i here. how did i get here.

reoccuring dreams

you're there, in the corner of the room, of which i can't bear to turn my head up to look at.

áo con mèo.

i still dream of you,
still as clear as if it was only yesterday. that in the colour of my guilt, i tell you if you touch me i will die. i will evaporate from condensed feelings that i can no longer tell anybody and i will die.

in this sense i have nothing to complain about.
say whatever you want, whatever you think i deserve. but that's just how it goes, things happen, time happens, life happens, other people happens. it was what it was. and it is what it is.

funny how when something like this happens to me,
i neither freak out nor lose respect, i just weep until my love dissolves.

i will try to protect my image of you and respect the you i remember and loved.

Don't touch me. I will die if you touch me.

 - Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita