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theories of a frustrated writer

#1 life at its finest

#1 life at its finest

Jun 02, 2018

i grabbed the pocket notebook which held my whole life in it as i rush outside to be welcomed by the summer heat. i quickly ran to get to the bus stop; today was one of the normal days when i rush to work in hopes of not getting fired the moment i arrive at the company. 

i looked at my watch. 8:19 a.m. 

i looked at the sky and closed my eyes. 

5.....

4....

3...

2..

1.

i opened them and saw that my bus was coming. i stomped my feet; left, right, left, right. the moment it went to a halt, i was the first one to hop on, walked straight to the back, and sat near the window. right there, i already knew that my day was complete.

there was never an unusual day for me. it always just revolves around work, home, eat, and sleep. but today i felt like drinking coffee while taking a walk so i stopped by the coffee shop near my workplace and ordered a cappuccino. 

i stayed there for a few minutes to write down something on my notes, and then i was headed home.

every time i take walks i'm reminded of my childhood.

when i was young, i always liked the idea of walking all the way home. there was a sense of fulfillment whenever i disobeyed my grandmother and silently sneak out of school just to be able to walk home.

a few blocks away from our house was a vandalized wall that grew into me. it says, "life at its finest" and seeing it always makes my day better. i don't know why as well because it looked really grubby and there was a dump of garbage beside it which makes the wall look more disgusting. 

i didn't know what it truly meant then, nor can i say that i do now. but thinking back on those days, i suddenly realized how ironic of a sight it was.

but then again, isn't life all about the little ironies? 



lapisninobody
patsy

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theories of a frustrated writer
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plain thoughts of someone who wants to be a writer but can never write anything
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#1 life at its finest

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