The Window Next Door

Sometimes, I feel like no one truly likes me. Maybe I come off as strange, maybe I don't act the way people expect me to. But deep inside, I keep asking myself: what did I really do to deserve this? Yes, I say unusual things sometimes, but isn't that what we all do when we think we are safe, when we believe we're around friends who won't judge us? I thought I had that once.

My behavior might be different, but that doesn't mean my heart is wrong. I didn't choose how I look, or how my words sometimes stumble out. Still, people make it a reason to laugh, to push me aside, to make me feel like a joke. It hurts more than I can ever explain - being treated like I don't belong, like I'm invisible. I'm not trying to be someone I'm not. I'm just trying to exist, to breathe, to feel alive in a world that always points out how "different" I am.

And then there was him. The boy I once thought was my friend. The boy I trusted enough to tell my secrets - the ones I hide from everyone else. I told him how I feel ugly, how I feel people are always judging me, how my voice trembles when I try to speak. Maybe I shouldn't have. Because after opening my heart, I started to hate myself more. I started to see myself the way the world sees me: not enough, never enough.

I was only 12, just a child in so many ways, but I still tried to comfort him. I tried to be there for him even while I was struggling myself. People think I don't have a brain or respect, that I'm just a "weird girl" who talks too much. But the truth is, I only feel too deeply. I never meant to force my love or my care onto anyone. I just wanted to be understood, to be loved without being laughed at.

I loved him - I still do. He broke me, yet my heart never stopped choosing him. To others he was just a boy; to me, he was everything. I saw his soul when the world only saw his face.