It would be nice

It would be nice if you'd actually asked me what you ask your friends.
It would be nice if you'd take the time to listen.
It would be nice if you actually heard.
It would be nice to know that you would be happy to see me.
It would be nice if I was more important than those friends.
It would be nice to know that you would cancel anything for me.
It would be nice to know that you cared about me more than them.
It would be nice to know that I wasn't just a duty.
It would be nice if the time spent wasn't cause you were free.
It would be nice if you truly understood.
It would be nice if you actually wanted to understand.
It would be nice if you didn't talk on the phone all the time.
It would be nice if you kept your promises.
It would be nice if you remembered your promises.
It would be nice if you actually knew me more than you know you friends.
It would be nice if you would stop looking at the surface and see that hurts have different degrees.
It would be nice if you stop thinking certain experiences triumph over others.
It would nice that I was just as important.

It would be nice if you actually knew me more than you know you friends.

It would be nice if you actually knew me.

It would be nice, wouldn't it?

And through it all, I never asked you to be like the copies of those who are better. Just my copy. 

dear me.

Dear Me.

I am writing because I do not know what else to do or say, and because in some freak reflection, I don't know who I am.

It may seem like another depressing topic. Emotional maybe, but isn't everything? I don't look in the mirror and say "that's not me", or some story like jolt of knowing, I just feel and perhaps know. I look around me, and all I see are materials, objects, dead things. Obviously they can't be dead, cause they were never alive, but you know the whole mellow drama meaning.

I wonder, if what I write in private is the real me, or what I do. It's really hard to tell. If it is so, and there is such difference, then I think that perhaps, just perhaps, I am really doomed. I could most possibly have trapped myself in a loop of mess and uncertainty, both of which is supported by possible unattended to emotions and past situations. I'm not very sure.

Do I put on a facade? Is this also a facade?

I bet there are many out there who wonder the same thing. Possibly at the same moment in some twisted time theory of some sort. This is just gibberish.

I feel like I stopped in time. Long enough to see the things around me, long enough to be unblinded by the friend I hope to be, and it disgusts me.

Maybe you can picture it this way.

Along the grey pavements, I walk. Dirty, cold and hungry. Not physically. Two girls run up and grab my hands. Hug me with warmth I've never felt. Feed me, with fun I never had before I walked the pavements. They step back as they realise more similarities they had, and run to a swing for two. Not offering, not asking. They are smiling in as they swing, holding hands. Happy. Through the silence of a glass that divides, I can see. The truth in all, they pretend not to see. They turn on either side to greet the others. Gossip. They're still holding hands you see, like parasites to each other.
I walk pass a lovely house, filled with children from all backgrounds. Crosses and holy monuments and ornaments line the house. A warm and inviting fire burn in the fireplace. I stare in awe. The crowd of children gather and welcome me. They bring me about and out. They chatter and laugh. I stand with the masses, but yet I see the bubble that forms around me. Silence. I see them laughing chattering, Smiling and gesturing to me. But they do not see what I can see. A line of twos I walk alone. I cannot cry. They say goodbye and run back to the house of warm fire. I am not invited in.
I see an old man. So generous and loving.  He smiles and gives to every stranger, lending them a shoulder. An ear. But this old man you see, has a wonderful family. And this daughter you see, he knows nothing off. So much for love and generosity
I walk on the grey pavement. Trudging further in hope. But this grey pavement goes too long. I cannot cry.
I walk past an old school. I see a girl jump. The children gasps, cries for help. Not for long, for they move on. And that little girl was forgotten. And in that little girl I see, many little girls to be. For those little children, treat the many, like the little girl forgotten.
This grey pavement is getting colder, harsher. I turn around to see. A glass display before me. I see myself with them, but the bubble around me.
Time slows for me you see, and I can see. I know.
I know.

Isn't it beautiful how words can string together the cores of life?

The times will soon be up for me, be as long as I breathe, I see.

I don't really Know.

Its been like what? A few weeks now? Probably nearly a month? I don't know. Anyway, during those few moments, I've been thinking, what exactly do I want to do with this blog? I mean, it isn't exactly an all fashion blog as I started it out to be, and it isn't exactly and all review blog as I tried it out to be, it's my blog, for the world to see. I don't know what to write, and recently, my flow's been stuck, and I realized that it was all because I was looking forward to one thing. My Macbook Pro I am hoping to get for my birthday. I guess its the NEW thing feeling. You know, whenever you're gonna get something you really REALLY want, and you want to start certain things afresh, well, this is it.

I was hoping to experiment with a mass of things once I got my lappie, but it seems like it won't be anytime soon. You see, my birthday is on the 18th of June, and  I suppose I should wait that long, but I can't. Its like getting your hands on the latest Birkin Bag and you don't want to wait in line. That's exactly how I feel, except my lappie costs lest than $5000 and does not have exotic skins sewed to it, thought that WOULD be wicked cool, but its just not right?

I don't know.

Anyway, I've been massively into tweeting suddenly. For anyone who's been hiding under a shelf, or a tv set, or even a tree. Tweeting is the action of typing in your current status on this fast and easy site Twitter. It provided an alternative from blogging, of course, people continued blogging along with twitter. Its what makes people feel like a celebrity, when they truly aren't. Its kinda creepy, but its cool. I remembered like it was yesterday, the day I started twitter. I had no followers, I followed no one. Simply because no one I knew, knew what on earth Twitter was. Unfortunately, its crowded and jammed with people now.

Besides that, it feels like everybody wants something from someone. Its like feeding off people. Okay I have no idea what or why I just wrote that. My dog is digging a cupboard. Its reeally noisy.

I've been on a massive spree of Criminal Minds lately, and I rekindled my almost dying crush on Spencer Reid, Dr Spencer Reid. Actor aka Matthew Gray Gubler. I won't put any links today cause I'm kinda tired, but I will say that MGG seems like an exact uncanny copy of Spencer Reid. The quirks and works part. He's website is filled with artistic creativity hand drawn and posted. Its really interesting I would say. Interesting art, unlike interesting model answer 'interesting'.

Then there's a super fast update news about Greyson Chance? Tween singer. He's often compared to Justin Bieber to some fans as better, to others "Sorry but Justin Bieber is more magical". Seriously? You wanna bring Miss Magic into this? I'm laughing now.

Honestly, Greyson Chance is the greatest kid I've ever heard. For real.

His voice is honestly a treasure. His passion, a hard find.

Justin Bieber once said, he never even practiced as hard for the competition he was singing in and he won. Talent is one thing, but passion. That's the real deal.

Greyson Chance's inspiration comes from the one and only Lady Gaga. He plays the piano, and transformed her song Paparazzi into his own.

Are you seriously gonna try to bargain with magic for Bieberboy? This kid is a kid.

His name is Chance! What other proof do you need?

I guess some people just can't stand the attention Bieber's getting, and the fact he doesn't seem fit to get it. People like me however just wish he had more appreciation for the talent he has, other than running of singing about girls taller than him. I like Bieberboy's songs no doubt, but I just wish there was more substance and feel.

Greyson Chanc wins hands down. I support him!

Okay. This is the end to my chain of randomosity and ridiculousity. If those are even words(Their not). Off to Family Guy and the Simpsons. Maybe more of a Criminal Minds.

I don't really know.