Do I look like I can crib and sulk relentlessly over lost friends and pimple-ridden skin?? Do you think I can pretend insistently about being at ease and at peace in my own flesh?? The compulsive bouts of daydreaming don’t offer crying shoulders anymore. Nor does the morning glass of lemonade taste that reassuring any longer. Do I look like I can rant and go on doing so ,apparently without any audience to pretend and understand?? I want things back now. Dear dear time, I do want you to give a few somersaults to the rear and disillusion all the mirages that I still carry every time pillows get damped and cell phones switch off. The pitter-patter on windowsills or a few drools over my orkut pics act as pacifiers no more. Do I look the type who can fancy uncompromisingly about boyfriends giving pink tulips or paying Barista bills after just a few blinks of my mascara-carrying eyelashes and still smile and blush while at it? Cobwebs are what my dreams are made up of now, they just stay there and grow added tentacles to complicate the callousness more. Do I look like I can have my own wicked thoughts to fill up the fucking hollows of the fairy taled dreams that have left me happy never after??