Recycled

I’m here staring at the blinking cursor of a word editing software. A lot has happened recently that I’m actually having difficulty figuring out which topic I should single out and write about.

I could write about my academics, about how well I’ve done at my design class while I was struggling at all the other subjects I had. I’d boast about how well thought of my floor plans were but I’d shy over the fact that I had a hard time overcoming my lack of enthusiasm in the last installment to our HTC series. Un/fortunately, the numbers displayed in the Grades Viewing tab could attest to this.

I could write about them, about how they make me laugh boisterously every single time through their crazy antics and about how they make me look forward to the succeeding school day. I’d exhaust every metaphor I could muster up to describe the delight I experience whenever I’m with them and still, it would be insufficient.

I could write about the compliments about my writing style, about how these stolen moments of glory push me into wanting to write more and to write better.

I could write about how I’m shamelessly using my extra curricular activities to keep myself preoccupied and consequently stop myself from over analyzing the current circumstances and the trivial details. I’d appear to be completely immersed into the things I do outside when in reality, he’s all I ever think about. But I need to stop this idiocy, knowing it won’t end well.

Or I could choose not to write anything at all because people have a tendency to romanticize their respective lives and make it appear like they’re living a better life than all the others out there. I’m no exception to it.

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