midnight melancholy

I realised that if I come here to write too often, it usually isn’t a good thing. It means there are things I want to clear from my mind but can’t, without disposing it somewhere physically and filtering it out. If one day, I run out of time and still have a need to write, what will happen?

Recently, I developed this new dislike for noise. Perhaps the dislike was already there, dormant, waiting for me to proclaim that it is a dislike. But I just found that I tend to get easily irritated by the slightest noise these days and the dislike isn’t going away. And unknowingly, I feel repulsed hearing people fight/quarrel. Every sound seems like a crack on an architecture, waiting to crumble it. Like a pin on a bubble, it seems so small but so destructive at the same time. The tone, the volume, the words feel so daunting somehow. It’s as if something intangible, resting somewhere, is receiving the damage and just waiting to fall to pieces.

Haven’t written with such… style (?) for such a long time. It feels so familiar and endearing.

I started wondering recently if, there’s ever a person who I would trust enough to let down all defences. Every time I start wavering, I’ll make sure I stop. It’s just… lots of distrust, to be frank. I don’t like to let people in so much because I’ll feel so transparent and vulnerable and subjected to I-don’t-know-what. Just insecure I guess. Kinda sucks.

Maybe once in a while, I have thought of that one person I would like to share my all my thoughts/feelings/findings with but the question is, would the person be willing to hear all that? Hope I made some sense.


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