Wed, June 20
... We are such stuff
I delete so much. Even on here, where it's "safe," there's so much I can't write. I let out the most honest feelings, longings, frustrations, joys, and then I delete them, because I can't bring myself to writing them down for anyone else to read. I'm such a chicken. I can't delete them in real life, and if this is supposed to be a reflection of my real life, why can't I let out my real life?
You don't know. No one does. You don't know what I'm listening to right now, and how I'm so close to tears because it hits way too close to home for my comfort. You don't know what I think about, what I dream about, what goes through my head every time I see you, or you, or you. None of you know. And I can't tell you. I try, but I can't really tell you. Just like you can't really tell me.
"What are you thinking, right now?" How many times have I heard that? How many times have I answered that? How many times have I answered that honestly? I don't know if that's even possible. I don't think I've ever answered 100% honestly. What I'm really thinking is too raw, too sharp, too indescribable. It's not a complete sentence, sitting in my head waiting to be released. It's an abstract, random thought that has to be caught and put into a sentence to be shared. And that, by simple virtue of itself alone, dilutes the pure thought that was there, making it somewhat manufactured.
I try to be open with you. I really do. I don't try to hide who I am, and I don't try to make myself. You told me once that all you want to see is me, the real me, and that I've never shown her to you. It's not for lack of being real; trust me. Yes, there are things that you haven't seen, but that's not because I've tried to deceive you into thinking that I'm someone different from who I really am.
Who am I? I am whoever you want me to be. And whoever you want me to be. And you. And you. And you. And all of those are a piece of the real me. I try not to hide behind my masks; I try to let who every one of you sees be the real me. But it's not the whole real me. That's impossible--all I can ever show any of you is a piece at a time. So take the piece I show you; put it together with all the pieces I've ever shown you, and someday you'll come up with the complete puzzle that's the whole picture of the real me.
infinite || abyss
posted at 6:17 p.m.
