so um
i've sort of come to the grudging realization that i much prefer the company of prose and the imaginary to the bizarre noise of socialization, tbh
and i guess it raises the question--am i content with these vicarious thrills, these abstract secondaries? myers-briggs told me i was more of a hands-on experimenter, but i guess you learn something new about yourself everyday
i guess it's like i'm treading the knife's edge between loneliness and being alone--bc i really don't know the answer anymore. i like being alone. i like being independent and sitting in tea shops reading by myself and walking down the street alone, tilting my head back and looking at the blue blue sky and marveling at the beauty of the world. that experience is wholly, genuinely mine. it would be tainted if i were to share it with a companion.
because most of the time people don't make sense, and it's hard to find the ones who do. the ones you really, really resonate with. though admittedly when you do it's pretty great.
i really don't know anymore. am i just trying to rationalize away my fear of rejection/vulnerability/etc? i really just want to read my eggers and my sakuracentrics and my journey!fics in peace, and not feel like i'm missing out on anything--because, you know, they make me happy.
but maybe this isn't the right happy? the right type of fulfillment?
ugh idek anymore im goin to sleep

















