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Walking around in a haze; moving from A to B on auto pilot. Translating until my eyes bleed, just so that I don’t have the time or energy to think about what I dread to think.

Not even the bubbly tastes quite right.

The words are coming to me on their own volition now (guess I managed to woo them after all), but they may be too many. How ironic! A flood of words and I’m too drained to choose the ones that are right, the ones that fit the intensity of what’s stirring within. Faced with a disturbing sense of déjà vu, I feel like I’ve been here before: wanting to speak, but suddenly and unwillingly mum; wanting to be seen, but suddenly nothing more than a transparent ghost; wanting just a tiny morsel of acceptance and understanding, but being pushed away.

(Giving up is not an option, though. Not now; and not like this.)

And most of all, frozen by fear of never making it, of failing again just like before and not even knowing why. I feel like I should do something, but what? If I say something, will it matter? Uncertainty and helplessness are not my favourite feelings. They should just be banished.

PS: soundtrack playing 

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