Inside I'm screaming for you to see it.
I'm trying to tell you but I can't tell you.
But I know you'll never figure it out.

I've been trying.
For two years.
Two fucking years.

Maybe I should drop the ball.

One day you wake up and grab your usual cup of coffee. You drink it black, with a teaspoon of sugar. A little bit sweet, but mostly bitter.

You take the routine commute to work. Sit at your desk, and do the everyday things you have to do. Check the email, make a few calls, and get on with your work. Finish the day, go home, make that bowl of noodles with the same brand soup stock you've been using for god knows how long.

But it's different. You realize that you hate coffee. You'd rather be drinking orange juice. You hate your job, you'd rather be doing something simpler.

You realize that you've been trying to fit a mold that doesn't exist. You've been trying to be a person you're not.

And it's what's been making you unhappy. You've refused to let yourself live the life that would make you happy because you're too ashamed of it.

And the only thing that playing this facade has given you is unhappiness. What's the use of an image?

Maybe one day I'll have that courage.

I was given a second chance. Second chances are meant for you to prove yourself. I will get through this.

I want a connection, is that too much? Sometimes I wonder.

I know you don't read this, and nor does anyone who would say anything to you. So I write freely.

I knew exactly where you were trying to go with it, I knew exactly what you were trying to get me to say. I know what record you were trying to clean. But if you're gonna try to do it passive aggressively, maybe you should be more discrete and less obvious.

And if you're going to try to clean that record, you had better outright do it. Be straight about it. I know exactly what goes where with who I'm telling. So I know these things get sent directly to you if I go to your messenger. I also know anything I say to you goes back to your messenger too.

Go ahead and play your game, I can play better.

I want you to become a blimp. It'd make me happy.

I fucking hate Berkeley.