books : RANT

so here i am, beside these stacks of books. My lappy is happily playing songs and i could never hold my head close to what i am suppose to learn. the pages are turned and my pen is bleeding, ink splatters across the crevices of my fingers, staining them with black. 

 

Is this and effort, i doubt so. i have to will to process these incredible impossible terms of vocabulary. hence i stare into the walls of my, scampered inside my drawers and i found this picture of me with my friends back in school.

I wonder why i stopped trying to find out they are, if they are happy or if they are troubled. 

i just wonder that without my presence even, they would be smiling just as fine right. I don't know. I want a home and yet my heart refuses to try and accept the environment i am in now. i suffered rejection for too long and now, my unconscious decides to refuse everything, to reject everything.  i can barely any silver lining to anything, interaction is a pain and the effort to improve feels as if they are a burden

i know. 

 that even when i leave, to a place i deemed better than here. Nothing might change, because the home i am searching for it's not outside for people to see. They are locked inside our heart, they are the reason why we belong.

but not me. in here, nothing belongs.