思念是一种病

There has been a growing discontent in the heart. Things are starting to irritate me, friends are beginning to squeak and squawk alike. I miss old friends with whom conversation flowed like clear rivers and complaints fluttered lazily in the breeze. I miss lunches or dinners or movie outings, blocks of time where worries were unceremoniously shoved aside and sparkly smiley-eyes were the main stars. I miss having time that I will have no guilt from wasting.