Q

I hate the haze. It makes me depressed. Maybe it’s not just the haze, but the haze on top of everything.

I thought there was going to be peace. Well, there was. Momentarily. Now it’s just a big stupid patch of haze obstructing my line of vision.

It used to be so clear. What was what, what I like and what I do not. Now it’s different, there is the haze, forever clouding up what used to be so damn obvious.

And then there were the lights, piercing through the fogginess. Not as glaring, dimmed. It used to shed light to stuff, give them a definition of what they are.

Now it can never be confirmed. It’s just a singular orb of light by it’s own. It does not swallow the world with it’s light, but allow itself to be engulfed by the haze.

It sucks, and I don’t know why. I’m seeking confirmation, I never get that. The only consolation is the comfort of knowing that the haze has not covered me. Yet.

There’s still a radius of clarity around me, though that’s just an optical illusion, I’m fine with it.

I can just let go, it affects me directly, that’s true, but it will never really harm me fatally. I despise the fact of how I can’t just forget about the whole damn thing.

You’ll never understand me. I’m under a facade.

And quit laughing or saying I act cheem and deep. I’m not. I’m not even using my high-class English. Don’t always expect me to be some circus clown. It sucks to know funny people gets slammed from having the blues.