...................................for, I 'll tell you,
If too immoderate sleep be truly said
To be an inward rust unto the soul,
It then doth follow want of action
Breeds all black malcontents; and their close rearing,
Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing


waiting... waiting... yes, it rusts the soul, and though i may like sinking into warm, dark sleep, how much rather i'd be staying awake with good reason! and though slothfully i may spend days indoors, how much rather i'd be out walking!

perhaps i am fickle. observe how a soft "bye" calmed all those storms i thought so strong? observe how that yellow spark kicks at the thought of that other laugh. it is more than possible that i just like the attention... is it just that i think i have no other option? is it desperation? is it lonliness? or is it real?

waiting... i have no patience. though really, waiting is only so straining when you think what you are waiting for might not happen. and every moment is at once an anticipation and a disappointment. and with every moment that passes and it doesn't happen it at onces becomes more possible that it will the next moment, and less possible that it will at all.
why do i live my life underneath contradictions always? it drains my energy.