Irony

I'm undoubtedly an extremist. An unreasonable extremist. I often hated people I was interested in after I had no feelings. I would avoid contacts with them since they merely recalled memories I rather forget. Or that I was ashamed of myself for falling. Why did I become a moony girl? I loathed myself for smiling and worrying in the meanwhile, which was indeed excruciating. Moreover, I abhorred people who ruined my life, interfered my thoughts, and occupied my mind. Getting rid of those was necessary to focus on my work. However, I shouldn't act as an extremist. Though those people disrupted my peaceful life and carefree pace of life, I shouldn't hate them after all. They were fireworks in my life, splendid and glorious, yet fading slowly when time elapsed. Eventually, I would forget as though they were strangers. I've dreamed about guys, yet I never took them seriously because I understood my job was a student. I always either immersed in my own world of fictional characters or pursued guys in my real life, which were opposite circumstances. One existed, yet one imagined. I've never known when could I balance my imagination and real life. And probably never hoped to upset the balance.