A tale of two cities

There’s a lot of funny stories about people reading books that give them such emotional outbursts that they just throw them across the room. Frankly I think that’s a bit disrespectful to the books. But this one I threw, not across the room to break it, but down into the bed as hard as I could. This is how I dream to write. Books that effect people. It was not a bad book, it was a freakin amazing book. It is satisfying to read, in the way books are when they contain many paths leading in different directions, but form a single road towards the end. I’ve wanted to read it for so long, it being a huge classic and all that. I mean I’ve even read books in which they read this book. And yeah, I give it all the golden stars.

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Goooodnight.

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I used to write about it.

Now I have the words for it.  

Now I don’t need to find them.

 

(Okay, I know you’re not supposed to explain things like that, that was just a short little text you guys should have your own interpretation of, but actually I wrote that down because I looked through this blog and I used to write these really pretentious texts (and I still do), but they were sort of poetic, my thoughts about life and whatever I was fighting myself about at the moment. I still do that. Write things in my journal, about whatever mess I’ve got going on in my head this time. The thing is, it’s always the same mess. How do I write that a million ways. No, why?)

I fall asleep at the bottom of the ocean.