she is rotting quietly under her skirts with a melancholy smile, like the odour of violets given off by a decomposing body

There’s just something unsettling about studying your reflection. It’s not a matter of being dissatisfied with your face or of being embarrassed by your vanity. Maybe it’s that when you gaze into your own eyes, you don’t see what you wish to see—or glimpse something that you wish weren’t there.

ir kybau per dieną prie telefono, kybau prie kompiuterio. nesiskubinu rašyti pirma, oj ne. bet kartais vistiek parašau. tu atrašai kada gali. galvoju: "nieko tokio. dabar tu užsiėmęs, juk tu toks užsiėmęs žmogus. pasirašinėsim vakare, kai grįši namo." ir grįžti. ir atrašai kada gali. užsiėmęs, užsiėmęs... o aš ir kybau, ir kybau... ir tada sulaukiu labanakt, o kartais ir nelabai sulaukiu. bet nieko, suprantu. tu užsiėmęs žmogus. pavargsti. viskas gerai. gerai. reikia suprasti. reikia nebūti clingy attention whore. tokių nieks nemėgsta. nemėgsta. todėl atrašau kada tik gali man atrašyt. nieko tokio, kad negali. viskas gerai. gerai, sakau.

i feel so distant. so out of touch, so out of space. i want to call you my home, but you aren't. i guess it can't be like in those romantic books, movies and shit. i want you to understand me, but i feel like drowning. i can't tell you how cold and sad and distant i feel whenever i'm around you. you would feel hurt. i want you to believe that i do feel like at home around you... maybe if you believe that, it would somehow become true. it feels like i'm trying really hard to love you and i know i shouldn't try because love should come naturally. maybe i need to let go... i desire to belong. i only want to have one human in my life. the one who would know me for what i am truly. but maybe that's only possible in fairy tales... yeah, probably...

atsiprašau.