An Angry Monolog
Sometimes understanding yourself is nothing but an endless paradox. I don’t actually know whether I lose the ability to be angry or does it because most of the things around me have been on my nerves, irritated me to death, that I just chose to numb my feeling. I believe confronting how I genuinely feel in each event in my life is so important, but, there’s always a voice that’s stopping me within.
I don’t actually know, the fact that everything doesn’t revolves around me is setting me free or making me even sadder. It’s not like I’m spinning around anything, too. However, maybe it’s nice to be a top indicator of one’s decision. Or is it too selfish, in this insanely diverse universe?
To add more question remarks to this paragraph, what is a dream actually? Is it something we want to achieve or is it something we already fail to get? Why does every dream on my list that’s been written boldly seem like a void I need to fill rather than an option? It’s written in either black or blue, but to my eyes, they’re boldly red like a grudge.
That led to another question. What if, all along, it’s a grudge that I hold tightly? What if, the red I see wasn’t love and affection, but a wave of unspeakable anger?
That was my question when I look her in the eye this morning. In front of the mirror.
