That was unexpected

I can’t talk to anyone except this piece of, I don’t know, “paper” about this.

You know when you start to feeling weird about the sun, about the cold stuff you went through once and again you remember as something useful cause you don’t want to repeat that and even though you think about this, you kinda do it.

I figured out what is my fuel to write, actually, it sounds cliché but those 90’s albums from sad music bands were great to start thinking to write again.

And also figured out this is gonna be repetitive. I mean, the whole “I’m writing everything that is going through my mind even when it has no connection whatsoever”.

You know people try therapy for this kind of thing (the sharing part) and expect to have a feedback from a professional. But I don’t know if I am watching too many shows that have a lot of alcoholic characters or stuff like that: the sharing itself feels great. You don’t have to expect anything. It feels great when someone actually say something in return but what about absolute silence instead?

The weirdest part is that I feel like I’m talking a lot and sometimes even screaming or stalling as I did in the first part and I don’t opened my mouth yet.

I think I have to be thankful for anyone who is actually reading this though.

So yeah, feels great, but that was unexpected.

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