Rendezvous
20 June 04 : 04.25 AM
After I got off the phone with you, I swaddled myself in a thick, oversized jacket and sat by my computer and played all the songs I listened to a million times.
You'd have never said they didn't sound good, or that these are written by lousy songwriters the way he'd. But you'll tell me they're unfamiliar and just isn't your type. I listen to the lyrics and find the words my mouth cannot verbalize.
I told you I was sad, but I was still laughing and talking so much, more than usual even, you say. But I don't know how seriously you took that, because sometimes you read so well between the lines but then again, I'm pretty sure somehow you know I was going to be okay. Maybe you just didn't care anymore.
I told you, kidding that I was going to get that rich Indonesian guy as a boyfriend and make him buy me Chanel bags and bring me on expensive holidays, mainly just to prove Edwin's point that girls are materialistic fuckers, and you just say, "Not an Indonesian." You know I won't do that, but now I don't know if I won't.
But it's so tiring to be languishing all the time. Sadness is for solitude.
Ling said while we were walking out of the ice cream shoppe, "You look sad."
Did you know I hate not being able to cry? What's there to cry for? I feel like I need to. But my heart's not moved.
Oh no. According to this I am severely depressed. Seeing the results, made me wanna laugh.
Save tonight.