you are a man. you're the manliest person I've ever known and it makes me want to hurt myself. the way you slip into crowds unnoticed makes me want to puke. I wish I was thin effortlessly the way you are effortlessly yourself every day.
A creative drought. My last three drawings look exactly the same. I haven't written anything in days. If someone compliments me now I will explode, and all sorts of bad things will start gushing out.
You make me really happy.
I can imagine how it feels to talk to him. He takes your breath away. He enters a room and fills it with colors and symbols and characters more vibrant than you could ever imagine. And he chooses you. Boring old you, out of everyone there. And he loves you. And he wants to hear your opinions on things. And he laughs at your jokes. You feel like you don't deserve him. You still often feel like you don't deserve anything at all. But yet he's right there next to you, sweet smile, tired eyes. He feels safe falling asleep next to you. Sometimes you love him. Sometimes you hate him so much you want to destroy him. But you never do. You remain in limbo like that, staring at his closed eyes. Until it's over. Until he's found someone else to talk to.
I fall in love with everyone I meet.
In the dark at 2 AM when it's softly raining and Kate Bush is playing I can pretend for one night that I am pretty. That I am wearing a flowing white garment and that someone who loves me is in the room with me and smiles brightly when I look their way.
I'm cruel and hateful sometimes. It scares me. It's like I've gotten good at hiding it most of the time but sometimes it comes out and I get mean. I say mean things to people. I wish my friends were worse people. The people I'm friends with shouldn't be forced to talk to me.
She likes to pop by and say hi. She likes it so much that sometimes she does it when she's already around, laying on the couch or sitting at the kitchen table. She'll get up, and walk back towards the curtains. She stands behind them, pops her face in and goes 'hi!' before quickly pulling the curtains shut again. Her giggle is audible in the hallway where she takes a few steps before popping back in and sitting back down on the couch. She likes watching people's faces, she says. She likes to see how people react to her. When you ask her if she isn't afraid to be dissapointed she shrugs. 'It doesn't matter,' she says. 'At least I know for certain that they're being honest.'
I'm not a person. Not really. I'm an empty body, walking around, pretending to be one of the people. But there's nothing inside of me. Evidently, the day they handed out personalities I must've overslept. I'm annoying, and I'm desperate. All I do is yearn for things. I'm never satisfied, no matter where I end up. I'm rubbish at taking care of others. I'm rubbish at most things. I'm good at others, but I refuse to apply myself, somehow. The voice in me is screaming for me to move, but the body remains silent, resilient. Doesn't move an inch. Never learned how, you see. The sob story works, for now. But one day they'll all be sick of me.
Do you ever love someone so much it makes you want to scream at them? Do you ever love someone so much it makes you want to beg them to understand you, just this once, because if they did, if they bothered- if they even read what you wrote, it could be everything. You're so similar, yet so different at the same time. You can't even reach them properly. But when you do click, it's electric. It makes your knees go weak. When you're together in a room you're drawn towards each other yet the same afternoon you can't even be bothered to send a text back.
It's hard not to talk to people when you really want to. But for me, right now, it's best if I talk to nobody at all. I know it's probably all in my head, that feeling of all of them hating me. They probably don't like me enough to hate me. Have you ever thought about that? You have to think about someone a certain amount to be able to hate them. I don't think anyone thinks about me that often. That's probably a good thing.
It was just a joke. It didn't mean anything. He didn't mean it. He doesn't feel that way about you.
Everything is a bit calmer again. The only noise in this house is the sound of the computer's vents and the sound of my typing. There's something very nice about this calmness. I doubt it'll last, but for now it's nice.
I find myself wondering if the past holds any worth more and more lately. Those hot summer nights we spent together, talking and drawing. the jokes we had, that only we understood. Conversations we had in public only to freak other people out. The times you infuriated me, too. Did any of them mean anything? Was this all worth it? I'm really starting to feel like everything might've been a waste.
Each of our conversations is burdened by the knowledge that you won't be around anymore in a few years. I feel death's gaze upon us every time we laugh together. It scares me. It really scares me. I can't imagine living without you. Maybe that's selfish of me. Maybe you are selfish for dying when it could easily be prevented. I don't know anymore.
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