Stuff.

[Found this while draft-cleaning, dated November last year.I creep myself out sometimes. :| ]


Sometimes laughing all the time isn't such a good thing. People think that's all what you are. And when you've laughed at everything, every time, you reach a point when you can't do it anymore. You're not permitted to maybe, by some great natural law of things. You just can't laugh things off. You can't do anything. You're the one who laughed so hard, you cried. And then, when you want to cry, you can't. You're this great blob of something that exists. Barely. You feel like an emotionless sadist. You know you're supposed to feel bad because you've inadvertently hurt someone, and yourself, but you can't. The tears don't flow anymore. You hate yourself for being so cold, so uncaring, so hollow, so unfeeling, but you can't do anything about it. You just see it happening in front of you - you, sitting there, just being, your eyes reflecting the vacuum inside, the nothingness around you. You don't feel pain, you don't feel dread, you don't fear anything. You won't do anything reckless, because you're just not there. Because you're okay.
And you see yourself there. Okay.
Time stops. You're listening to a song on your iPod, and you don't know when it ended, what was playing. You're eating. Something. Maybe.
You know it all, yet you don't. But you're okay.
You're calm inside. It might be the lull before the storm. Or the peaceful smile on a dead face. Who knows? You don't. Yet, you do. Because you're okay.

And then, in a moment of blurriness, you let go. You're looking at old things, you're yourself again. You can't help yourself, everything comes tumbling out. You're laughing. And crying.
And then, it subsides.
Blankness.
You close your eyes.
You're okay.
And then, you smile.
You're "okay".