this one was written less at 3am in the morning, and more like in the waiting room of a medical centre. but the thoughts fit better with this series of posts. and it technically is closing in to 3am here. so here it is.
i am this awkward thing – this awkward thing that hovers. this thing that stares at the girl across from her, in all her prim and proper beauty and wonders why she can’t just be one of them. instead, i am this thing who stares at the other people, at a guy who sits in this room, and believes that he is thinking of that girl and would never even take a glance at me. and if he does somehow, randomly, think of my presence, he probably is wondering why she sits so awkwardly, why her shoulders are like that, or her arms like that, or her expression so unappealing and half-hearted. and this self-consciousness ruins any potential form of mystique to my presence in the room …
i am this awkward grasper of the world. i see all the people who seem to know where they’re heading, seem to be so easily resigned to the corporate world and their place in the machine of society – even those who rebel against it seem to find their place. but i hover. i question too much. “why all this time spent on something i don’t care for?”, “why all these hours spent when i can spend it on living” – but i don’t really live. i hover in a solitary room most of the time. this self-awareness of the hypocrite i am becomes this bitter taste in my mouth.
what am i except this awkward thing.