♥ Princessa's Royal Diary ♥ - Royalty has never been so PINK!

If you must know, the title of this entry means nothing. I was thinking

^{"merry go round"}

and "changes" so... I kinda just put it together and form "merry go changes". Just a fyi.

It's been awhile since I last updated this pink blog of mine. Apparently, the bear's friend's friend's friend knows my blog for its pinkness. I feel so honoured really. I should really pink it up a notch.

So anyway, I'm feeling a little displeased deep down inside right now. I feel betrayed. I feel cheated. I feel like the whole world has done me wrong. I feel like strangling someone to death. I feel... I feel... to put it plainly, annoyed.

Cute, but annoyed.

I feel I can no longer trust you. And as quoted on Twitter (a tweet I tweeted that is):

"If I can't trust you... that's it. Nothing really much to say. Even if you walk by, we say hi, that's about all there is to it."

So yeah, recently I've not called, text-ed or said anything at all...

That said, I've not been contacting quite a number of people so please, for the love of god, don't be too sensitive. I'm not necessary referring to you. But for that particular individual (or individuals), "Yeah I'm talking about you. Don't turn away. I'm referring to you!"

My whole world is sooo totally messed up right now. I no longer live where I lived. I no longer hang out with whom I used to hang out with. I no longer talk to whom I talk to all the time. But one thing that hasn't changed is... Priss. My dearest and most loyal bitch, I mean friend! Well, there's the other bitch, I mean friend, Isabelle the girl that lives on airplanes.

For someone that isn't a stewardess, she probably sees more clouds than she does land.

I realise something totally weird. It's not whom you meet everyday or talk to all the time that is closest to you. On contrary, is that whom you meet/speak less but understands you more, is that whom is closest.

Even distance cannot weaken the connection we share, through words, through time, through space. And yes, I'm talking rubbish.

"What hope is there of her majesty's soulmate? How called thee the mate you speak of? How understand we that?"

If only William's...

(last name, Shakespeare) "A Lover's Complaint" is written by a woman to a man.

You know what? I should be banned from blogging after 2am. When the night gets younger, the more illogical I become.