She sits down, takes deep breaths and tries hard not to cry. So many things happen to her and none of them is important enough to make her feel like she is someone, she knows all these feelings will be gone by tomorrow morning and yet she cannot help but feel like this is the end of her world.
The tears get too heavy and she fails to keep them within, they start running through her face one after the other, she thinks about asking for help, but she very well knows that no one can or want to help her, she's done bad things, she appreciates her loneliness but whenever she wants a bit of company all she sees are people facing backwards, and she knows she doesn't deserve to call their attention. So she does the only thing she knows that might help.
She takes an old pencil and a white sheet of paper and starts writing what ever comes into her mind, hoping that it will make her feel a bit better.
"There are so many things I'd like to run away from, there are so many reasons why I shouldn't care about this at all, there are a million different masks I can wear and, wouldn't it be a waste to leave them in the dark?
I do not deserve anything that I want, and some things I do have should be as well taken away from me because they are all based on lies, lies I never meant to tell but I never tried to clarify.
There is nothing or no one, but I've chosen this, so I should at least learn from my mistakes and take every decision and live with it."
As she continues to write, the tears fall upon the paper making it difficult to read, she doesn't care, she wants it all gone.
She looks back to the past, she looks ahead to the future, at this point, she can barely remember yesterday and what she used to wish for, the little she does remember hurts her deeply, because she knows none of these will ever be true (again).
It breaks her heart every time people tell her she's been acting different, because she knows is true, and because no ones ever says something else, no offers of a helping hand, not a shoulder to cry upon, and when it does happen is weird and barely helpful.
The only thing she thought she did right, is bad enough to make her doubt about her future, she feels she's not good enough and that she sure as hell will end up being a failure.
The little confidence she once had has abandoned her completely and she almost wishes she could be somebody else.
"Cada vez que te veo es una mezcla, un vértigo se apodera de mi y no puedo dejar de sentir que todo esto es más que ridículo, cuando ya no estas pierdo el equilibrio completamente, pues lo que me mantenía de pie se va en otra dirección"
She was never resentful, her memory wouldn't allowed it, she thought everyone was like her, turns out people can hold on to hate pretty hard, which only makes her sadder.
Since writing haven't helped like it always does, she justs leaves it, she'll try to distract herself in some other way.
The tears get too heavy and she fails to keep them within, they start running through her face one after the other, she thinks about asking for help, but she very well knows that no one can or want to help her, she's done bad things, she appreciates her loneliness but whenever she wants a bit of company all she sees are people facing backwards, and she knows she doesn't deserve to call their attention. So she does the only thing she knows that might help.
She takes an old pencil and a white sheet of paper and starts writing what ever comes into her mind, hoping that it will make her feel a bit better.
"There are so many things I'd like to run away from, there are so many reasons why I shouldn't care about this at all, there are a million different masks I can wear and, wouldn't it be a waste to leave them in the dark?
I do not deserve anything that I want, and some things I do have should be as well taken away from me because they are all based on lies, lies I never meant to tell but I never tried to clarify.
There is nothing or no one, but I've chosen this, so I should at least learn from my mistakes and take every decision and live with it."
As she continues to write, the tears fall upon the paper making it difficult to read, she doesn't care, she wants it all gone.
She looks back to the past, she looks ahead to the future, at this point, she can barely remember yesterday and what she used to wish for, the little she does remember hurts her deeply, because she knows none of these will ever be true (again).
It breaks her heart every time people tell her she's been acting different, because she knows is true, and because no ones ever says something else, no offers of a helping hand, not a shoulder to cry upon, and when it does happen is weird and barely helpful.
The only thing she thought she did right, is bad enough to make her doubt about her future, she feels she's not good enough and that she sure as hell will end up being a failure.
The little confidence she once had has abandoned her completely and she almost wishes she could be somebody else.
"Cada vez que te veo es una mezcla, un vértigo se apodera de mi y no puedo dejar de sentir que todo esto es más que ridículo, cuando ya no estas pierdo el equilibrio completamente, pues lo que me mantenía de pie se va en otra dirección"
She was never resentful, her memory wouldn't allowed it, she thought everyone was like her, turns out people can hold on to hate pretty hard, which only makes her sadder.
Since writing haven't helped like it always does, she justs leaves it, she'll try to distract herself in some other way.
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