hands hands hands my hands are shaking i can't stop it's hyper i'm hyper i need to settle down meditate stop moving around but i can't i can't i need to keep moving because my hands are shaking and i'm bored i'm excited not bored i need help please someone i have to do something to stop because i'm shaking so bad my hands are shaking and my eyes they stray they keep going seeing looking at things and i keep mistyping and deleting and re-typing again because i'm making so many mistakes i can't stop making mistakes because my hands are shaking i shouldn't have drunk that coffee i don't know what's wrong with me now i can't stop typing i just need to transfer all this energy i'm hyper have to stop have to have to or else oh shit i can't something's wrong my brain is on overdrive and i'm going to overdrive it over a bridge and crash now i can't quit these hands are moving too fast too slow for me need to run out of energy really help please not stopping can't afford to stop because i would destroy things around me if i do try to stop typing but i keep mistyping what do i do please i'm hyper i'll try to stop now but suffer the consequences don't want to suffer the consequences but i have to stop now because i'm repeating myself over and over again repeating myself not good have to stop soon now...
Dreams.
Perfection is the stuff of dreams. If this is true, then I'm having a nightmare. I never knew perfect sadness is possible. You can't be perfectly sad. There has to be a bit of happiness in there somewhere. Or so I used to believe. The world loves to prove you wrong. It has a sick sense of humor. I am perfectly sad. Perfect sadness is the stuff of nightmares. I know of nightmares very well. I have chosen not to sleep tonight. I don't know when sleep will come. It's the dreams I fear. That's where I see him, all the time, in so many different ways. Compared to things other people have experienced, other griefs, other pains, other sufferings, mine does not compare. This is only a broken heart. This is only disappointment. This is only the pain I feel because I think things are unfair. I thought I was special. I wanted to be special. But I think he kissed her, and he hugged her for such a long time. Longer than he did me. And I realized the truth. I am not special. I am
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