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Try to understand. Never will. It seems like I'm alone again. Sitting. Non-productive thinking. Not even listening. Not much of anything at all. Tired of caring. The sun has made my head hurt. I hate lying, but the truth seems irrelevant and unknown. It asks too many questions. It asks for elements of self-control. I have nothing. I remain another no one. No one to be left on their own. We're all fine then. Happy romantics. Couples and aesthetics. Its all about genetics. And pretty dresses. Its all bullshit. That we can't get enough of. Society is craving for more as it feels neglected.