Sometimes we just walked past a stranger, and we feel the need to talk to them, about whatever and however, but we didn't, and that right moment was lost. It was never again to be written and the person would never again cross this intertwined lines of life

Another drag of cigarette is all i need, relishing this moment of fear, confusion, anxiety. I almost puked at the bathroom sink, not because of the unpleasant smell of a common public toilet, but from the sheer anxiety. I don't even know why but everytime I feel so scared, so anxious, so depressed, I feel like puking. I just want the vomit to be in a form of pure gold. So that I could do something with my intestinal findings, not just washing it away with water, like dusting over a dream drawn on a blackboard with chalks. I rarely puke to be honest. Just the sensation. But I love it. I swear. And in this exact moment, I realized I made the wrong choice.