Warm Nights and the Chill
What do you feel? I feel tired. Always tired. I feel ashamed that someone as ugly as me can be allowed to say anything important, to say anything profound. It feels like I'm lying. Like only beautiful people should make beautiful words. And my fingers don't move as fast as the words in my mind. My fingers stumble and mix up the letters and pause as the next phrase comes down the line. If I look at myself in the mirror, I realize that if I ever met myself I wouldn't like myself. I would never be able to talk to anyone who looked like me for all the junk food and video games and life wasted that is engraved on my face. That is why I look for strangers. People who don't know me. Because I can just give them my words and be who I am regardless of the years of neglect and foolish decisions. That is why, at times, I wish I didn't have a past. I could just be what I want to be if it weren't for my past. There's just so much waste, so much nothingness that always matters in the most annoying moments.

I'm such a kid. I don't even realize when I get too excited for something. And then I ruin my friendships, impose myself on people, forget to respect anything, and when I do something completely stupid, I always feel something that I would call regret. But the regret that I have known in my life has always been negligible and far away. This is more than that. The ineffaceable desire to not have done anything at all with my entire life. As if to not exist would make things a little better.

I don't even know what I'm doing with my life. It's degraded to the point where I just want to play video games. I don't even know what I'm going to do. I don't even have so many things to say. I used to feel such passion for saying things, about finding things to say, about finding people who want to listen. But I say such abstract things and I am so ugly that for those two reasons I can't say anything to people who are right in front of me. I wish I could just be words.

I mean, where am I? I feel lost. I can't answer myself when all my life I've always just been able to say what I feel. I feel like mysterious things are pushing me. The desire to belong. The desire to be loved. To be something worthy of love. To avoid God. To sleep. To evade life and steal away moments where the sun hits everything at oblique angles and the molecules of the earth are laden with potential. To sit and stare and watch the places where no one goes like the ocean and the sky and the lonely patches of grass and mountain and sand. I feel like I want help. I want some strange girl to appear and tell me about life. I want her to break and fold reality into something true again, to wring out the illusions and be beautiful for me. Someone to believe in because I feel pathetic right now. Which is truly a pathetic reason to want someone.