3:16am

Vent. Source: Christophermonro/Tumblr

Vent. Source: Christophermonro/Tumblr

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My mental landscape is a boulevard of wingless dreams, false starts, and a pile of what-would-have-beens. It's not enough that on many nights, the sailboat rows rudderless, the chilly water seeps in now, making it hard to move. 
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The jar of pill is empty, and I crave for a new fix, a new pastime, or better still, a new excuse to justify the fact that I'm not on the race course with the rest. At least on the dark days I could feel, and I had found a way to grope in the shadows.....but I do not know what to make of this colourlessness. It's not grayscale, It is no rainbow-like hue either, and for more moments than one tonight, I feel colour blind. These thoughts have executed an invasion and rendered my duvet useless, and their marching sounds won't be shut out, even by five pillows to each ear.
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What do you do with a tree whose leaves hold colours that cannot be named? I miss the nights of plunging down the ocean, I could describe the situation then.....but not this. I can't wrap the fingers of my mind around what I feel. No, the question should be, is there even anything to feel? Logic is taking a power nap, and all the ones who said they would be on hand to cancel out the unsure moments are fast asleep. 
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I guess I'll just keep floating, that is, if I can call it that, it's difficult to make out a concrete description of your movements in undefined space.

Diary Entry by Jerry Chi