I realize now, that all my life, I've been looking for a story to tell. A story about me, one that I can write down and tell the world. I always make up stories in my head, and pretend it's real. Especially when I'm upset. Depressed. Going crazy. Or simply have a goddamn bad day. I will have imaginary friends consoling me. I will have the scene in the real world deleted, replaced by the one in my mind.
It is so utterly foolish, to maintain an unreachable world, to have such great but nonexistent friends, to have this unattainable life.
And it is so me. Sometimes I think know I am killing myself with my own mind. My own poison in the making.
At the same, I think this is what makes me so 'interesting'. To myself, at least. Lol.
And he shouts at her, "What about me? What about me? I can give you the life you want. I can make you happy. Happier."
She looks at him, with longing, regret and a sense of gratefulness. She wonders if she will think of this moment as as the one where she gives up the chance to be someone else. She hopes that regret will never arrive to her.
"But you're not real."
fate was flirting ... at
8:54 PM
& tumbled down on 1 identities
` waiting to fly
let's release the butterflies
so they may fly
and be united with
their lovers
honey i am here
waiting to fly away
with you
`like a bird
her name is ai-rees
a babbler, a dreamer
a silent fighter
push the misery of the world
away
and maybe then she can
pretend this is a happy place
my own place, my sanctuary
walk-in closet // a slim body
silky hair // pain-free joints
scar-less // soft toys
never ending dust-free world
universal medical care
environmental-friendly car
Hogwarts's Room of Requirement
a dream
beauty // brawn // brain
