BORING.
That's all everything ever is. Ever. Nothing is fun anymore. Everything is so, so pointless and yet... I continue on. Just because I can.
So I will.
Just because I can doesn't mean I have to, though, and I keep everyone I love very aware of that. I push them away, but I need them, and they know that. So they stay anyway.
Stubborn bitches.
I love them all the same. But it's hard, you know, because they don't know. They really don't, and it kills me, but I don't say anything because I don't know how.
I've never been very good at talking. Or writing... Or socializing. I pretend to be happy. I mean I am happy I think.
Except that I'm not. I don't know. My mind is a mess and it makes me a mess and it makes everyone I love a mess and I hate it. The few thing that make me happy are slippery.
They are dangerous and delicate but I cling to them as if my life depended on it. Which, I mean... I guess it does.
My life is based on things. I throw myself into something or someone and when they leave I need to find something else. Someone else. And then after a matter of minutes the old thing is forgotten and the new thing is the only thing that ever matters.
As of now I haven't found my new thing yet. So I'm board waiting for the day to come when I will find my new muse.
