Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

tutto il tempo.

Masked, I advance.

- Rene Descartes.


Here comes the story of an unnamed person once again. The mysterious one who has no name, but a gender of she. The anonymous person whom you might suspect refers to none other than yours truly, this girl who hides behind a computer typing stories and poems in attempt to display her knowledge of vocabulary and expressions. Speculate as you may, the truth hides within itself. The stories continue to flow from the vivid imagination of this one lonesome girl with a wild mind and hyperactive fingers.

Here comes another story of she.


Sitting on the floor, she tapped her forehead. Her migraine wouldn't go away, or was she exaggerating the pain in her head all on her own? Her insomnia got more and more serious with each passing day, or did she have a problem with her caffeine intake? Her laughter lacked sincerity, or was she sincerely lacking a laugh which she really needed?

Fighting the urge to whack her forehead a little harder to make the pain go away, she picked up the phone. Pressing the numbers she recalled by heart - the eight important numbers she bothered to remember by heart, she held patiently while it rang. There was no answer.

Moving back to her corner on the floor, she hugged her legs. In her mind, the question "what exactly was so terrifying?" popped up. Her thoughts moved on to scenes from her day, thinking through each detail, each emotion, each laughter she tried to hide, each tear she tried to conceal, each smile she tried to fake, each conversation she tried to start, each gesture she made, each thought she thought about. Her thought then moved on to "what's so bad about my day?" before moving on to "what's so bad about my life?".

The headache wouldn't go away, no matter how badly she wanted it to. The moment she had looked forward to so much had just shattered in front of her. Putting on her straight face, she swallowed the tears, and tried to forget the feeling of disappointment and push away the idea of expectations.


Her heart sank a little, her head was hurting from the confusion of her thoughts and emotions.

Her head was throbbing more and more each passing moment, or was she mistaking it with her heartbeat? Her heart was sinking a little lower with each passing moment, or was she pushing it too high to a height it could not reach and thus it backfired? Her eyes were tired and shutting a bit at a time, or was she just fighting to keep them open? Her clock was ticking with impatience, or was she staring at the clock too much?

She would walk out of her room the next day, with her mask back on again.



In eterno.


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