It can't rain all the time

My dormitory is a funny place. The staff hide from the cameras so they could smoke a cigarette.

Another winter 'love' (or was it?) story behind. The funny thing is, the more I idealise a girl, the less it takes for me to be completely disappointed. Sounds kind of self-explanatory, I know, so let's complicate things a bit: the more crazy I am and all over my head with a girl, the sooner I get to the 'whatever' phase. I mean, how could I be so blind? Maybe she used to be just like I pictured her, but today? Not so much.

Shallow, cruel, indifferent, cold? Call it as you will, I'm through with her. It'll be some time before I write a letter to her again. And somehow, I expect it to be kind of cynical. It's not because I'm angry. It's because I'm disappointed. Chiefly with myself probably, but what's the difference?

No regrets. None at all. And it has some aesthetic value, too. Now let's make sure I'm the protagonist of the story and find a happy ending, preferably... well, I won't spoil it. But damn, I hate being patient.

It was all beautiful and inspiring when it lasted, now I'm hiding whatever I feel about it beneath the mask of indifference. Hell with this, there's a new day ahead, right?

It can't rain all the time.

(And as I wrote it, it literally stopped raining and a few beams of the setting sun reached my room's window, the golden-lit clouds far in the background. Sometimes I wish I did believe any kind of signs.)