Fictitious.

Trailing the contours of my palm with a fingertip, I realized that I actually like this, this feeling that overcomes me whenever even the tiniest contact of our skin occurs. It feels awfully strange, and yet this strange feeling is what I seem to have a liking of. I guess I have a natural tendency to gravitate towards the socially unaccepted or whatever politically correct word fits. I feel as if there is newness in me whenever I talk to this, this person that I have only known for not so long. I feel as if I am another person. I feel as if I have forgotten who I am, or who I thought I was. I feel.

We embraced hands.

FML

As usual, I feel utterly depressed at the transpirations occurring around me, or more appropriately, the lack thereof. I am once again drowned by my own lethargy and the irony is that I do not know how to swim. I've been suffering from sheer confusion aggravated by the mountainous workload that I have yet to finish. It also does not help that the probable solution to my problem is certainly something quite tiresome to accomplish and since I am already encompassed by my own sloth and idiocy I doubt that I will actually be able to begin what I possibly intend to do. But then, of course, all I have said is merely theoretical for my own indecisiveness is apparently causing my soon implosion stemming from the fact of my own self.

I have a fucked up life, heck I don't even think I have a life at all.