so why am i here? dont i have to work? well if i can spend 2 hours at night thinking about someone, then I can spend a few minutes here writing. Surely.
I always have dream where I'm going out with random close friends and I wake up wondering how fucking weird that is and then seeing them or talking to them afterwards and feeling awkward as fuck. But if you wake up and don't find it awkward does that mean you have feelings for them?
On the other hand, it's been three years. I remember three years ago, it wasn't this windy, a bit colder maybe. Was more hurt than I am now, but back then there was hope.
The harbour is empty, silent and still, but the city lights glisten in the water's ripples. Its around two or three in the morning. The air numbs my face as the chilly breeze brushes past, my fingers stiff as I rub them against my knees. I remember sitting here with you one afternoon, watching the children running to that ice-cream shop, hearing the crowd cheer as the entertaining guy finished his performance.Fuck that I cbf thinking. I hate finishing stories cause I start them and realise how shit i am at writing and then I just give up.