I hate the way I look at him. I hate the way I care so much about him. I hate the way I care what he thinks about me. I hate the way I overthink every little interaction with him. I hate the way I feel when I think about him. I hate the way he calls my name. I hate the way I like him. I hate the way I think he's perfect. I hate the way we don't talk anymore like we used to do. And most of all, I hate the fact that he'll be back soon.

It's not a rare sighting to find me reading a book, it's just that this time I plan on discovering new genres; throughout last year I've been really into old literature, which are great btw, I've been reading Fyodor Dostoevsky, Charles Bukowski, Franz Kafka, Haruki Murakami, Oscar Wilde, Jane Austen, and much more. I think it's safe to say that I was really into dark, raw books/authors, because I was really obsessed with Franz Kafka's and Dostoevsky's works, which wasn't the best choice I guess, for someone who's dealing with a lot mentally...but, anyways This year, I plan to explore more genres, check out new writers, and I kind of hope I can do it. But if I can't, I'll just go back to my old genres ig. I mean, it's not that deep.