No. Not referring the softcore porn book/movie.
Rainy days. I know of someone who hated rainy days. Still does. He claims it’s wet and depressing. I agree. It usually brings out the worst in me. Yet, there’s this perverse attraction to it. It puts me in an exceptionally melancholic mood. Which, if you’ve known me long enough, that I’m prone to lapse into. I hate it. And yet I can’t seem to stop dwelling on it. I’ve always been like this for as long as I can remember. Is it the masochist in me?
I really have to stop blogging only when I’m depressed. This is so draining to write and to read. Oddly enough, I feel better every time I write about things. However vaguely it is.
Hahaha. I’ve written an entire block of text which makes no sense whatsoever and doesn’t give any indication as to what inspired this depressing entry.
I want someone with whom I can have intelligent conversations. Someone with whom I can use words like euphemisms, epitome, etc. Someone with whom I don’t have to dumb down my vocabulary or tone down my vulgarity for. Someone who doesn’t treat me like an afterthought who’s only good for a little fun. Someone who treats me with respect. Someone who gets me and my quirks.
I haven’t met that someone yet.