Lazy from C-Z

Still here, alive, nothing works. I'd be lying if I say I'm moving on. Nothing moves on. I yearn and yearn. Constantly. I torture myself endlessly, banging my head on solid ground. Is it because I am so deeply in love with her? It's brutal, this love is. My love for her, I feel, is eternal. What was done was done, Amie. Nothing else matters, and I'd give up everything to be with her one last chance -- not that I haven't already -- and yet, all is seemingly lost. Lost like a falling petal in a forest with no one in sight. Like a bird caught swimming in a swamp, haunted by the ghouls of the arborical bogs that catches our hero unawares.

Any way the wind blows. I've been dealt a strong hand here. Celebratory days affect me the most. It started with the fireworks festival in Busan. Halloween came and nothing. Pepero Day pierced me within me like a sod on a spike. If a corkscrew could tighten a grip over the situation between me and my life, I'd be drowned in a bottle of grape juice. Nothing prepared me for anything. Living spontaneously is a hit and miss. It went on until Christmas and New Year. I went home as a bottle of bitter tears clinging to the rage and hopes and fears that keep me alive. Tomorrow is Valentines. What use is it now to worry about its significance. Pepero Day was the same. I remember the look upon the mother when she found me from behind the glass door. She was stressfully dialling for someone, I don't know who. But from then on, time slowly greased away from my grasp tenfold. Weeks passed without any update. I was left to rot without a chance to know why. Tomorrow I wonder ...

Apparently there isn't anything particularly of interest for me back here in London. It's been a week or two since my return and it hasn't contributed to my ever-improving feeling of longingness for that one person. I try to stir something in me, but so far nothing has helped. There is no sign of depression, only a weird sense of wanting to find a valuable friendship with someone, anyone. Nothing. And it seems to me that there is no sense of interest coming from the world to do just that. So I contribute to myself however way I can, making sure that my sanity stays intact for the remainder of my days. I try not to think of the other party -- I'm pointing my finger at Mioseon -- but most of the time it only reminds me how much I still want an answer. The why to my now, and even though my rage is still fresh, some part of me still wants that sweet, masochistic hardship back into my life, while she now revels in an orgy of self-fulfilling happiness. She finally figure...

We see our hero fall from grace He was ne'er happy in the first place He sits and loathes and kneads the pain He drives and feeds himself insane His love has flown away from him She left him cold as ice and dim She never even said goodbye She stole his phone without a why