I want to make sense to someone. I don't want to sound pathetic, or clingy, not even somewhat indecent, just normal and decisive, happy and congruent. I don't want to give pieces of myself away to people who will throw them away in a matter of a few months; I hate that the most. People seem so decent, even genuine and different, but they do something or a series of things that make them the most despicable of them all. I hate how I end up blaming myself though. I wish things were so much different, and we didn't have to thrive and live off of things like self-validation and reassurances, because I know I am so much stronger than those words. I hate talking about myself, but I love it at the same time. I am shallow and indecent, but I really wish I weren't. I wish I could record all of the things that I felt into real, legitimate words, but here I am, stumbling over ineffable, ephemeral feelings, and not writing the things I bury the most. I say I hate people, but I really just hate the fact that I do. I hate how reliant, or independent, I am towards people depending on who they are. I hate the way I am and the way I can be. I'm sorry if you're reading this. I hate that you're actually listening to me bask in this type of self-pity. Some things are better left unsaid, but other just boggle down a mind that is already halfway there.
the way i am compressed into one paragraph
this is why we're best friends
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