I don't know many things.
I'm constantly disappointed by my obsolete efforts to put everything together.
I'm just sixteen, I guess. But another excuse does me no use.
Yeah, so what if I posted my age on the internet, whatever. I've recently come across a point in my life where I've notice that in many occasions that I can be real a windsock - I won't elaborate.

I'ma say it, and convey it when the world play it...
Bringin' back sweet memories... Reflection is a collection of memories.

Crissy sent me this article a couple of hours ago. Indulge, learn something new about protein kinase: [link] A La Eternal Sunshine. hmph.

These past months, this past year has not only taken its toll on me, it has reversed my consciousness, forced me into a mood of lucid dreaming, in short, it has made me extremely mad - I've tried my mighty hardest to neglect the fact that many things never work in my favor and I don't get everything that I want. (Lightbulb!) Ha, obviously this is not the breaking point where I've apprehended this, I'm just so danged tired of everything... studying, studying, thinking, plotting, aimlessly drifting into nowhere, lost in this covert behavior I can't even understand... and it just started raining.

Love is impossible to conceal; a look, a thought, silence even speaks it. But I don't know what love is. I haven't met the love of my life yet (U_U), I haven't had a real serious boyfriend, nor do I even know if I want one... I'm constantly reminding myself that I don't want a boyfriend in high school, that to me the idea of being trapped in a cage of commitment to a boy that relies on stupid acts of immpulse and is nowhere confident about himself nor a relationship, is beyond absurd. I rather be one of those sad little animals born in a box, left in the darkness that creeps around all corners, knowing that my end is near... rather than not know what will happen five minutes from now. Boom, my flaw is that I am always anxious about the future. It shows, everwhere: my nails, the bags under my eyes, the movements of my feet when the skid across the floor; my eyes never leave the ground (to make sure I don't trip over a slice of pizza, or have a shoe untied, or for some strange reason deviate from the rest of the human population and not be able to perceive depth and be swept away by my own cascade of tears...) I don't know.

Serendipity: This word is typed into the "Google Search" box and before I click "Search" I scan the word: 11 letterss, 5 syllables, morphemes, phonemes, etc etc. I don't know what this word means... oh, the delicious irony. It's like the blinking vertical line that appears after typing every other word... I exit the window and don't even bother. I hope this speaks for itself.

So I sit here, with my Psychology book open, close my eyes and listen to Talib Kweli. I reminisce over everything - I make a sort of myoclonic jerk, because, In a sense, I'm always asleep... if only I could avoid sleep. My eyes flicker, millions of synapses burst in my head like stars... the hairs on my skin move with the current of the wind outside... a butterfly passes by, completely oblivious to me, and then it hits me: we are all driven by some affiliation motive, despite the level of desire. So, as I'm riding the Train of Thought, a ghost inside the house peers through the window, tilts his head and tries to distinguish the setting and incorporate what he's seeing... He lightly taps on the window and I immediately respond: I see his eyes synchronize with mine, as I sit in my hammock with my books laid out open. We stare at each other and I take out my cell phone and text message Gregory: "I'ma say it, and convey it when the world play it..." The camera leaves me as I take a dangerous dose of a dopamine subsitute (I'm deprived of this love drug in the most of absolutes), ascends to the sky, and focuses on the moon... I'm plagued by my deliberate introspection. Oh mirror in the sky, what is love?

Someone, please, wake me up.