Drowing Girl


Drowning Girl Drowning Girl
1963
Roy Lichtenstein



























Hehheh… moths and Statham, eh? No chance…

I’ve spent most of my weekend feeling glum; when i’ve been out and about I know that I have a stony expression on my face and I feel nothing yet at the same time like I could quite easily burst into tears if the wind blew in a different direction.

Everything’s pent up, caught in my throat, and in between periods of staring into space thinking about my lot, I think of the skin on my arms.

I’m going through one of those phases where I feel unhappy with the whole MW#1 “thing”; these happen every so often separate from anything particularly bastardly he might have done, I guess I just get fed up.

I generally rail against conformity and normalcy but when it comes to relationships it would be nice to conform, if conforming means having someone in my life to love who loves me. Then I would be able to communicate my needs rather than bottling it all in my head, ask for things without feeling needy.

“Can I have a hug please?” or, “I want to wake up with you” – Simple statements that are not asking for very much. I am utterly unable to say such things; it is better to be quiet and sort of die inside, muttering “I wish he’d hold me!” over and over in my head as I do so.

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