This is going to be a weird one.
One that's more... feel-ish.
Almost Xanga - like.
Remember that crap?
Aren't there just plenty of things we hide? For me, it's not the most difficult things that are tough to hide. With that, I'm quite transparent. But it's the easy things that store away. You see, someone can configure themselves to seem like an expressive person, when they're actually quite the opposite. I don't know. I think I'm an easy person to read, but some saw otherwise. But everyone has their own complications.
The reason why I don't express this privately in a journal is because I almost secretly want someone to hear me. hey you. there's so much I haven't told to any single human soul. will you listen? can you do so without me having to say a word? There's just that tiny voice resting within me, constantly shelved. Obviously it's a danger, but it's something to keep me living on the edge by, right? Does this danger entice you too? Doesn't all of this just make you feel. alone.
Many reasons have brought inspiration for this entry, but the skeleton is made of past--whether my own or someone else's. and then there's awful cycle of comparing. measuring. quantifying. So many reasons behind actions, whether made up or true. Reasons that make you feel small. doubts and insecurities. Yeah. that's how I feel. insecure. but i'm just a silent voice. waiting for the storm to pass yet again.
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