||Short Story | One Shots||
||Ongoing I Sporadic Updates||
Like how cameras capture moments, so do words. With words, memories and moments are held as captives of time, in a single frame--much like a picture. Here lies a collection of one-shots, con...
One of the saddest things in the world is not having anyone to talk to. Not fitting in. I think that, then, makes me one of the saddest people to be living.
That's what I feel like. The last piece of a puzzle. But the wrong goddamn puzzle in right in front of me and there is nothing I can do to fit in it. I could squeeze myself into the mold, even craft myself anew but even then, I don't belong here, I don't complete them. The puzzle is better off without me. It doesn't need a broken, misshapen piece. It doesn't need something that doesn't fit. It doesn't need me.
But somewhere, out there, there is a puzzle waiting to be finished and I am the piece that completes it. How long will it take for me to get there? A year? Two years? A decade? Until then, am I meant to be stuck on the endless loop of pretending I fit into a world that I am not meant to fit into? Not meant to complete?
Often, I wonder what I am doing now, while I search for the thing that makes me whole. Until I do, I suppose I am just existing. Existing is not the same thing as living.
So, tell me, whoever controls the lives of everyone. When will the day come that I can be part of the right goddamn puzzle and live? Because I don't think I can take much of this existence any more that provides nothing fruitful to look forward to, where I have to smile and say cheese and pretend, I am happy when everything is crumbling to ashes.
And I am covered in it.
Ashes, I mean.
Not happiness.
I can't be the only one who thinks there is something direly wrong with that statement.
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