liziefer

+ so, I once again find myself, late at night, refreshing. Refreshing. Refreshing. Staring at a blank page, with a blank stare + a blank heart. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Yet nothing has changed + I feel far from refreshed. The night air is dank, stark, stilted, drowning. I feel as deflated as an airless balloon, just as grounded + flat. The moments after are given over to submerging in my own salt, no relief floods as they cascade down my cheekbones. Hours later, I pick myself up from the floor. Refresh.

I always fall fast + hard. One bonus though, I get back up again damn fast. I'm tired of false starts though. I think I should just not talk to anyone about my love life ["love" life], that I should keep it a secret, for fear of jinxing it. Keep my hopes to myself so that I cannot be ridiculed when something goes wrong. I'm sure that noone would, but in my mind they might. I guess, in my mind, anything could happen.

Especially the zombie apocalypse.

Robot Love.