ggnt:

that i find myself interested in are the ones that seem to be lost, lost without admitting it maybe. the ones where if you look closely enough, you can see the subtle changes in their reactions to their own thoughts, to them talking to themselves, or hurting themselves. i find those people charming. i find the slightly broken attractive. the ones that can be fragile, but are trying so hard to mask it, to put on an ill-constructed persona that i believe i can see through.

but i think most of the time, i’m just a bit too fantastical in my own. to think that if i send over my self intensely enough through my gaze, that there is an otherworldly bond that could be created. there’s just an understanding that i feel with the insecure. that i too am fighting with myself constantly. behind my own shoddy facade that i can’t even convince myself to being. everything is such a dream and a game to me.

but, who am i to say that they are calling out for help? as if i have the right to try to make meaning in everyone’s actions, and as if i have the extraordinary ability to be right about it.               it’s hard when you’re so egotistical and you spend your daily searching for the likeness in others going as far as creating fictitious characters in your mind.playingoutstoriesandmergingitwith     what actually is. it’shardwhenyoucan’tunderstandwhattodayis—what the present is.       when    youcan’tacceptwhathappensordoesn’thappenbecauseyou’retooobsessedwith
the dreams .
the dreams that you’ve created during waking life. when every day becomes a blur so quickly because you are never able to place foot on solid ground.

it’s just.

exhausting.                                 a persistent exhaustion.
with the battleground that takes place and never      seems       to end in my