In which y/n met the boy down the hall who was diagnosed with OCD.
- TRIGGER WARNINGS:
mature languages, death, mentions of suicide, self- harm, depressive thoughts and angst.
Each shade becomes more vibrant after a rainstorm, and the browns deepen in a way that calms my heart and gives my soul stability.
The grass turns glossy, reflecting the light and giving their wands a new, bright shine as they gently sway in the breeze. Each drop of this rain is a gift for every aspect of creation, bringing a sense of freshness.
My face is turned upward as I raise my hand and experience the sun and water together.
In front of me was the apartment, well, from whatever is left with it, looks like it was inclined to the side unsettled to finally lose its stability and wreck itself to the pavement.
I made my way up the stone steps and turned the lock open, shaking my body to leave droplets of water on the floor.
The place was silent, no one to accompany me as the front desk remained empty.
The buzzing sound of a mini fan accumulated with dust and debris shimmies on the desk turning its head left to right as it blows the corners of the stacked up paper files back and forth.
Workers looked like they were already occupied with something, even the owners who occupied the rooms upstairs weren't that forthcoming, pretty much I'm really on my own. I didn't expect any welcome remarks anyway.
This town was pretty big, a place where you can easily hide amongst the busy crowds or create a name for your own exposure. Some people who wandered to this part of town had motives whether to make themselves known or to live invisible, I pretty much prefer the latter.
When I become anti-social, I don't feel guilty.
But sometimes my loneliness gets terrible and overwhelming at times, and I regret it.
Living in a world where I seek companionship makes me feel as if I have to shed my own identity, to be a traitor of my own skin. I wonder how many times I should keep changing myself for people to acknowledge me, until it becomes a murder of oneself- senseless, like looking for love in a brothel.
Descending up the stairs the silent trudge of my feet joined with the slight creaks of the floor was the only thing audible in the silent night.
When I got to the door, I saw manifold boxes by the end of the empty hall.
Looks like I'm not the only one who just moved in?
