Very tired, indeed. 

Staying up late? Glued to your browser or Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, or thoughts? Look no further. You’ve found me. I wasn’t always like this, I got enough rest and always had a light appetite but reactently… I cannot control myself. I think, I think too much. A lot of people have told me the bags under my eyes are not suiting my lifestyle. That, in fact intelligent people stay up late! If that’s the case please help. She walks the streets to work every morning, regretting that unholy Netflix addiction. Or, that book she couldn’t unstick from her hands. Or, that boy she couldn’t stop thinking about with his cute laugh or recignition that she actually exists. Because it’s zayn, it’s always zayn. It’s either that, or she can’t stop twisting at twirling under her duvet. Practising words she will speak fluently tomorrow without ease. Imagining scenarios that will never happen with people that don’t know her name. If it wasn’t for these late nights coffee wouldn’t sound so romantic to me. I wouldn’t dream of his hands then I couldn’t come up with the phrase I say so much. I wouldn’t know how to apologise to the person I miss so much, and I wouldn’t regret forgiving myself for everything in my past. 

Damaging, a body. That isn’t capable of any more hatred towards it, damaging it without rest yet using it to it’s full advantage you could tell I’m a very tired girl. A tired girl, tired of wishing that the moon didn’t look so good. That the best time to take some time to think would be on a cool night, dry and broad. She, unlike a lot. Sees the stars as her own very thoughts. One by one, she counts. Along with the hours she has to sleep. And a bag of Doritos. 


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