what is it about me that makes me want to open my heart to everyone all the time, as if i can’t be silent for too long; i can’t ever keep things to myself. so open, but still so impossibly far away from everything in a blurry mess of messes. i need to write and i need to write about myself, and sometimes i think it’s because i’m the only person i can ever know or want to know. who says stuff like that out loud. just wanna scream into the void and ask ‘is it supposed to be like this?’ do we all have these thoughts but never tell anyone? why do i keep trying to say ‘do you feel it too?’ when i know that they don’t feel it at all, not like this. anyway, i haven’t cried for weeks and weeks and i think it’s all going to pour out of me one day when i least expect it, like on a morning when i’m sitting in class or on the train ride home – all of a sudden this blubbering little girl is crying for no reason, no reason, no point to any of it. don’t comfort me, it’ll only make me cry more, i don’t really know why kindness makes me scared and sad and i always wonder if the world is clean and pure and humans ruin it, or if it’s the other way around. maybe everything is ugly and we have to make it pretty. i know i’m going to make a beautiful life out of anything i’m given. i know it. sometimes it’s very strange and lonely here. i feel like i have lost a lot of my language trying to describe myself and my world. you know, i’m so grown-up now that little children call me ‘lady’, and they run around me in circles while i hope to god that i stay sweet and never become bitter never ever. tomorrow i’ll start a new painting while i wait for the words to find me, and i’ll remember myself again, i will, i will.