End of Day

This is end of day. When everything in me hurts, particularly my stomach, and my eyes are just tired. When I spend my time doing nothing, because I can't bring myself to do anything, but I'm too tired for sleep.When I want to play video games, or make some phone calls, but there isn't anyone awake. When I want to eat nothing, and everything. And that time when my mascara has created little black half moons under my eyes, like the ones drawn on in old silent movies, that I say I like but I don't. There are a lot of things I say I like but I don't: coffee more expensive than the gas stations, music that's too loud and too harsh, and eating lunch with people that don't really care what I think.

That being said though, I've always been one of those night kids. The morning feels too bitter and cold, but night feels like a pair of old sweats that feels just right, even though wearing them makes you feel adolescent and cheap. Most of the time, I hate the word nice. It feels awkward and too concise, like stiff stretched collars. It may look appealing, but it isn't me. I am not refined or clean cut. And most of the time, I don't care at all.

I like my people like I like my journals. Spine broken, smudges, and just honest. And tonight is just one of those nights.