Zeldarocks

It feels strange when i pick up my pen again. Like I'm going back into old, bad, habits but it's only a pen, right? right? [My scribbles] My desk is like a little battleground right now, sketch pads and diary pages fight with each other for space, And my calendar is still stuck on the 26th. stuck in the past. Just like I am. Small soldiers shoot their guns at your pictures. at the train ticket. And I don't know whether i should stop them or let them get destroyed. Knowledge changes... everything. I hate sounding whiny. I hate those girls who whine when they are so lucky. But i can't help it. Eight days is a long time. to go.