Have I become so dependent on talking everyday that I feel so aimless when you’re not here? As much as I don’t like to say it, I probably have. Or maybe it’s that niggling feeling of not knowing. Not knowing why you’re not here. Reminds me of long ago, when I got all worked up for so damn long … Over the simple reason of not knowing why. Why someone treated me like that. It still kinda bugs me to this day actually, good thing I’ve got better things to find out now anyway.

I like to think I’m easily contented. A good book and enough quietness to read it. A grey, rainy day spent sleeping in. A lazy afternoon nap. A job with enough money to provide for one holiday a year. A simple, uncomplicated life. I like to think I’m easy going with most people and with most things. So it’s just puzzling how something so small gets me thinking so much. Why does your absence make me feel so strange?