weird dream filled with tortures and other stuff, like gun trials, rich homes, some party getting interrupted. in the dream, i knew it wasnt real, moreover i knew ive had this dream before. i dodged every bullet they had, and sat inside a weird car that reminded me of a rollercoaster.

then silence

i was in a room with a table and him and his new girlfriend. she was tiny in comparison to me, her height was at least 7 apples stacked upon each other. wavy hair, nationality-less face. they had their matching diaries on hand, he owned the blue one with a huge A written on it, and she had the red one. she was painfully nice to me, so kind that it even felt dismissive, as if she didnt consider me human at all, not talking about being his love interest. i pulled out my unmatching diary which looked like toilet paper wrapped around itself aspiring to be a book. i dont remember what happened next, but i remember distinctively the feeling i had felt throughout the whole thing. some kind of poetic hopelessness, i gave up on something, something i had no idea of. then they left, or maybe i did, i just remember the room feeling half empty, and when i woke up my devastation prolonged just enough for me to skip therapy, drink wine, not want to see anyone, and write this in my cursed little website.