in my melancholy i have found nothing special. it is normal to be in a bad mood always. still so plagued by the day when i noticed that none of my friendships were my idea. or that some people for some dumb reason get nervous near me. or rely on architecture to try and bring us closer. there is a flaw in all design. it's exemplified every time i try to reconstruct my life. it falls apart faster. i don't miss anything any longer. i can sometimes see the beauty abounding around me. i can mostly feel the anguish, the grayness, the ennui. a terrible flash hits you and everything feared to become of everyone has come true. you grown comfortable with bad-tasting ideas of what to make of yourself. some just want to be still. what's most awful is how light everything can weigh sometimes. there can be so much pain in the smallness of things. nothing beats having too much weighing down on me. sun still floods my room in the late morning. maybe i'll someday start missing something if i pull my blinds down. this is all that i could ask for. they say where you are is fine, so long as i can get around sometimes. when you find it suddenly, and you look up to see the sun could keep spinning around enough times to kill you right where you stand. when you try to deconstruct your life it comes together.