more.

night .. home, i left for only one last ride for the day. i wanted scotch, and there was cheap pasta awaiting me back home. everythin i eat makes me sick, but i can take the alcohol.
strangely i like reading quotes of people i adore, people i will never know for real but i live like they are the ones i believe in their whole life... margeritte Duras is my favorite, and 8/10 of her quotes refer to alcohol, if she manage to lie for that long, then it gives me hopes. red wine would make me sick... there was also a quote on time, the better way to spend time, is to waste it .. that's even more hope for me lately, it keeps me almost away from crying, but tears let go is more healthy then the seriousness on my face.. a woman crying is a beautiful thing .
'' capri, c'est fini, et dire que c'etait la ville de mon premier amour, je ne crois pas que j'y retournerais un jour.'' i wanna watch this film again. i wanna better desk to write... emma's got the best set-up for words, except smoking in less. and i would rather sit on broken glass and be able to smoke then to not .. it's worst then starving, bien pire... que tout.
i am an obsessive persona by choice, i could chose to forget , hang out out there .. but i want you to chain me down wherever you want .. where it's cold.. where i can't even touch myself, i will come anyway. in pitch darkness, i don't need to see in order to dream awake.
i am kind of a sadistic thinking over my desires, i assume it looks like i like it that way , i'd rather feel everything then nothing at all... i'd rather lie in bed alone like it hurts, then to be listening to someone i don't fucking care about. and there is a lot i don't care for... just just now.. still, i am awaiting my package release from montreal..
waiting, for the impatient me is hard. the music is not helping me, the memories is worst, but the taste i remember in my mouth keeps me starving awaiting, i will not let go .. i eat not to fall. the only things i like for now, scotch and chocolate..
my bed feels empty, my body is getting colder. i am sick, inside, i look lost when i ride my bike, and the look in my eyes, is looking too far for no one to understand.
fuck i write like someone in need of a cold shower. but ah ah ah i am a writer , alone. alone.