I want to feel things again. I want so desperately to feel real somehow. So I look for sincerity in the boys that chase me. Their admiration distracts me from the utter hollowness of my own self. Their enthusiasm to see me and be around me fills me with false, temporary hope. I know that this won't last, some part of me wishes it doesn't. But it's something. Something I could latch my loneliness unto. A scratching post for my unfulfilled yearnings. But it hurts. It hurts to realize that you may not be as admired as you think you are. That perhaps, you are not as special as you have previously perceived. You are just a replaceable as anyone. You are just as expendable. You were a fool to think otherwise. You are a fool to think that you could use people and get away with it unscathed. You are a fool to think that you are exempted from the torture of attachment. You are a fool, and perhaps you know this. Maybe you don't even mind. I just want to feel things again.
