what are words? i mean, really? what are words after all? nothing but letters which man has injected meanings to, right?

Right, right. What are words after all? I wish i could take that with a straight face and a clowny smile. And then reality stabs you.

and you're suddenly breathed into a place wherein you're not supposed to be (even if its just a few steps away). did what you were not supposed to do, and worst, read what you were not, in a million fucking years, supposed to read?

forgive me, but i just had that and i think i'm gonna puke. I just had that moment, a moment i wish i could take back. i should have just sticked my butt into the chair instead of finding something to tie my hair up with. the results were not so good after all. Especially when you have in your possession something that you know you couldn't resist looking at, or in this case, reading. Bad move.

I tried to knock some sense into it actually, thinking that maybe, i'm just way overboard, paranoid, delusional, or just plain stupid. what could i do? I've read the WHOLE f***ing thing. And it hurt.

It hurt like crazy. That sort of pain that cannot be subdued with morphine? That kind of pain that rips you apart? A heart, body and soul-wrenching pain? It made me feel useless; an outsider looking in. Like i'm just some sort of lint in the air or a speck of dust. Hell, they could have been luckier. Pathetic. I was begging for rationality to absorb me. It failed.

Words are useless unless you put meaning into it, but sometimes, there are certain things that smack you right in front of your face and i'm too stupid to even feel it, more or less see it coming. Or maybe just numb. Or worst, dumb.

Meanings would come out of words depending on its structure. In short, structuralism played a big damn role why i'm feeling this way. The way someone writes to you has an embedded meaning attached (no matter how peculiar) to each and every word it includes. What i've learned tonight or rather, this early in the morning was probably the most hurtful thing so far. Honestly, i don't know what to feel or how to feel for that matter. I want to scream and shout and yet it all comes boiling into paper. I write.

I f***ing write when the cause of all this misery is also produced by pen & paper. Produced by words and letters which (as far as i can remember) was my ally --- but has now become a foe. And still, writing is my remedy.

Words really are double-edged swords.Too bad the stakes are inside my heart now. It has finally betrayed me.