I hope I get the job.

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@slightlyinfatuatedinthefall
I hope I get the job.
Всегда говоришь, что ты не красивая, но я тебе не верю…
I don’t know what would make me happy anymore.
Still don’t. I sometimes glimpse happiness in moments of creativity, but those moments don’t hold up in the presence of others and I feel like a fraud. When I’m alone, doing it purely for myself, I feel free.
I like when people ask questions. It’s natural to want to have the floor, but I like when people make an effort to inquire about others. I’m more than just a captive audience – at least, I could be.
I’m going to miss it. It never felt like home, but there’s still something I’ll miss about the city – having so many options available to me, even if I’m not always in the mood to take advantage of them.
I hope one day, something I create will impress you. And for once I can have your awe.
Funnily enough, when that day finally came, I no longer cared about your praise.
Write one true sentence every day.
Today, I missed my old friend. I revisited fragmented memories of us, lost to time and change. I realized, at 26, how profoundly and unconditionally my old friend cared for me. I’ve spent 10 years trying to find another to care for me the same way. I haven’t. I’ve spent 10 years missing you. I can’t forget you. I’ll miss you for the rest of my life. I truly hope you’re still out there, somewhere – under the same sky, looking up at the same stars. Maybe I’ll wish for you on the first star I see. I used to do that, wish on stars. I was whimsical back then. I didn’t keep track of those wishes; I wonder if any of them ever came true. I want so much to someday see Inbox (1) – I want it to be you, after all this time. Won’t you wish me a happy birthday this year? It’s crazy to think that we could actually meet. Live, in the flesh. We’re adults. We were children then. I was always longing for the past, but my present became my new past, and that’s the past I long for now. That was more than one true sentence. Here are a few more: I’ve starved today, inadvertently. I should eat some strawberries or whatever else I can scrounge up in the kitchen. I didn’t play guitar today, though I suppose I still could. I listened to The Beatles.
I don’t know what would make me happy anymore.
Hello My Name Is immigrant ; and I’m sorry the edges of my broken English are so sharp that they leave your ears bloody. My mouth is trying to swallow a whole other Tongue. Hello My Name Is go back if you don’t like it here; and I’m comprised of 3 jobs, in each I am invisible. I’ve slept under so many bridges, People ask if I’m a troll. I’m struggling to stitch a future from broken fragments of the past, crushing up parts of my self to make a paste and hold it all together. Last night I slept on Hope but I was blanketed by Fear. Hello My Name Is … what are you even eating..; and the only time I can mimic safety is when I eat my homeland’s food. The soups are the waters where I swam for fun, the sautéed vegetables are the hills and trees I ran through, the spices are the twinkling stars at night. Sometimes, I forget the strength of the blood running, jumping, coursing, through my veins. Am I still worthy? Hello My Name Is they’re all so dirty; and my hands are cracked from the pressure, caked with the mud that comes from trying to make stubborn ends meet. I watch you stare at my odd clothes; your scared glances keep feeding a monster in me. The secret is: I balance precariously the line between the Yin and the Yang, neither one nor the other. Neither here, nor there. Too much of both to be at peace in a place other than a wanderer’s arms. Hello My Name Is immigrant; And I’m Here, to stay.
B. Damani || Hello My Name Is (via bdamani)
Another Earth ( 2011 )