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drained. I don't think so. This is how my brain looked like when I first strummed. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Shit. It's one thing to not practice, and not know. It's another altogether when you practice so much your hands hurts, and your brain is running through the lyrics all day, and then, snap, its all gone. The former is laziness. The latter is the phenomenon where your heart skips a beat, where your brain melts and yet somehow, still has capacity for one thought - you. Where, your eyes focus on a single silhouette, a single face. And you know. That all you need is that one person. And I know. All I need. Is you. Where is my spark? There, your heart. I really want to know. But I don't want to pry. Because I'm afraid. That the answer is what I think it is. By. A week. Has gone and. With it many things. But I just. Want to. Let. You know. That I have. Not been 'pon-ning' school. You stupid asshole. I have. Been. Helping out. With the Drama Elective Programme's 'A' Level. Examinations, so there. And shut. Up. I've been feeling disgustingly tired. I've been having countless splitting headaches. But I have never been happier. Eyebags. NOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. |