I watch people sometimes, wonder how they can walk around with the weight of what they know. Wonder if they feel like me, stumbling with lead shoes on the bottom of the ocean, swimming in a sea of the unsayable. It’s a mistake we make, thinking it’s words that tell us everything. It’s sound that breaks glasses, cracks windows, sends cats up trees. ( Read more... )

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I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over,  I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others-the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He ( Read more... )

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Does it have to feel like this every morning? This is bringing up some issues. and now in the aftermath i don't know what I should be feeling. Now what? There's only a week left. What happens after that? Do I even want to know?

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I feel too much.

That’s what’s going on.

Do you think one can feel too much?

Or just feel in the wrong ways?

My insides don’t match up with my outsides.

Do anyone’s insides and outsides match up?

I don’t know. I’m only me.

Maybe that’s what a person’s personality is:

The difference between the inside and outside.

I spent so much time ( Read more... )

I have so many contradicting words and thoughts and emotions about so many things, I don't even know how to properly have a secret. No one really knows me; I don't need secrets.

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“to be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting”-e.e. cummings