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THIS STORY IS UNDERGOING HEAVY CONSTRUCTION. I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY DAMAGE THIS TERRIBLE GRAMMAR MAY CAUSE YOU. THANK YOU. (also, for older readers, the concept of the book has changed completely, and now has a new title rather than the old one: lucy. However, the chapters are still going to be relatively short.)
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{this book is for you, the person who believes that there is no hope left. I swear, you are loved}
☁Indylulu ☁
The hardest thing I ever did was die, because in that moment I was everything and nothing at once. I was a vacant shell, lying on the beach waiting for the sea to catch me and carry me away. I was a yellow balloon floating into the the sky, lost and astray. I was a ghost, a misty spirit. But I was myself.
There was something about pretending. Pretending to be alright, pretending not to be a mental case. But of course I couldn't pretend to be something I had never quite been before. It's difficult for me to explain the entire situation. I was pale and confused and unaware of my future (or lack thereof), and it should have scared me. But that's just it: I suppose I didn't really care.
I always wanted to be a story, a good one. I wanted to die old because when you die young, everyone remembers you as a tragedy. But I wanted to be something big. Something great. I was the protagonist, the fare maiden who didn't need a prince, the beautiful woman with a smart mind and perfect posture. But those were just the fairy-tales, I wanted them as much as the next person did but that's just not the way it happened.
Looking back on it now, I realize—in this state of limbo—that I never quite noticed the moment I turned mad. Does one ever notice when they begin to go insane? Or is it just a gradual process, until all at once you forget sanity. A process where, without really understanding it, you go through a long plethora of phases before finally reaching the product. I liked to think it was like growing up: You never noticed the entire process, until all at once you suddenly seemed taller, different, unrecognizable.
The thing about growing was it was good. Growing was never meant to be bad or wrong. We were made to grow. But insanity? That's not what we were made for. Insanity was a terrifying place, even for the gods. I suppose I compared it all to aging because it was comforting to blindly convince myself that I was growing up, when actually I was going mad.
I did learn one thing: in the end it doesn't hurt anymore and in that moment, you are a better person than you were to begin with. It's okay to be sad and it's okay not to be okay.
I know this is a tragic story, but it's mine, and I will tell it.
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[edit]: okay guys, as stated above, I'm changing a lot of things here. Lucy's name will from now on be 'Indylulu' (a name I've been meaning to use) and if anything significant changes along the way, I'll inform you. Thank you and, ENJOY YOUR STAY.
P.S: DON'T READ MY BOOK IT BECOMES SHIT AT SOME POINT BECAUSE I'M LAZY WITH EDITING HOLY SHIIIIT.
