and. for a second, it was like. like the sky was wide and my heart cracked open and i was a functional goddamn person. and i could think clearly because my mind wasn’t broken. and i could hold onto your hand and maybe i will still be myself if i keep breathing. i’m so sorry. i love you, but… i don’t know what i’m doing. i love you, and i have no idea what this means. and i’m not part of the world like you are, and i know that’s probably going to sound mean but i can’t do this anymore. can’t be this person, who understands being part of something. because it just doesn’t make sense. can’t you hear me? because all i want sometimes is for you to hear me. because the thing about relying on your feelings to gauge reality is that your feelings fluctuate and i just wish sometimes, that my life was a book series or something. something i could write. and make every line of dialogue rest on its line. and maybe i could shut down the computer for a while, and actually sleep at night. but the noises are so loud, and i know i shouldn’t make life decisions based off how they sound but i don’t know what i’ll tell you when you ask me how i’m doing because it’s a lot more complicated than a smile, or a frown, and if you really want to know then please don’t ask and if you do please say it now. and we convince a barista our name is dragon tomato and that makes me happy for a little while ‘cause for a second, i feel like my own kind of normal. and like it’s ok that i am a fucking weirdo. and like it’s ok that i don’t understand the thoughts zipping through my head. it’s ok that sometimes, i feel like i’m drifting a thousand feet above the sky and i can’t really hear anything you say as my chest slowly empties out onto the concrete broken eggshells and heartstrings but it’s never enough to drown out my insecurity. and it’s never enough to make me like the feeling of my skin wrapping itself around my body. and it’s never enough to make the hours pass just a little. more. quickly. and the mirror reflects my face back at me and maybe if i could just be different in that kind of cliché way, i wouldn’t feel like the lonely sock you can’t pair with anything. a crappy outfit. rudolph the red-nosed raindeer. like the ugly duckling. like all those fictional characters you rooted for until it wasn’t normal to be cheering.
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