The thing about me is that I can write pages and pages about my flaws and why everyone should hate me or why I'm bad for the world in general but I cannot bring myself to come up with anything good about myself simply because if I choose to acknowledge it exists, that would mean my own existence means something.
And I'm kinda scared of thinking about it.
Anyway, I'm 21, I'm studying stuff, almost always writing something more often than not and just...there, you know.
Just that rock on the side of the road, grey and unnoticeable.
Most of the times, I'm just...there.