Some times, it is in these moments of tender and ridiculous nostalgia that i know something inside is still broken. Or cracked. Or chipped.
And i know it affects almost everything.
Worried, doubtful, paranoid.
Disbelief, suspicious, untrusting.
There you were in the dream, wanting 'to talk'.
Since when did you ever want to 'talk'?
Stupid dreams, stupid haunts.
Another night, another haunt.
Thankfully I've learnt that they mean nothing, will not affect anything, if i don't let them.
kinda.
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