I'm slipping again, like numb feet on slick ice.
My body is falling again. Gravity pulling me back and down until i hit the ground.
Except there is no ground.
I can hear you using my voice. Feel every breath you take with my lungs. Every muscle stretching as you move my body.
But you aren't real... are you?
I want to talk to you but my mind isn't working like it should right now.
Are these your thoughts or mine?
I find it hard to tell these days.
I can feel us blending into eachother until I can no longer tell if I'm you or you're me.
Were we even separate to begin with?
Sometimes I want to scream that I am not person.
I talk and I fumble and I breathe, but there isn't anything beneath the surface.
Sometimes there is too much beneath the surface. Tidle waves of emotions that ripple up and over and spill out, but I am not a person like you.
I am alive and I am struggling and I am failing, again and again, and that seems human to me.
But then there's you. Making conversation, remaining still in your seat, nodding your head and listening like a person should.
And then there's me...
Struggling beneath the surface.
Slipping again, like numb feet on slick ice.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am am someone who...
