Thoughts
I have always been thinking why I read like crazy. I admit, reading makes me feel happy. That somehow, in some sick twisted thing, I know, I have something. That something is my imagination. I have thought, and thought about it.
It's because the Book has everything I don't have. I'm not an anti-social. But I'd rather pick a Book than go out with friends. I'd rather stay home and fiddle with my phone rather than talking to my friends. And I'd rather be alone than to have a company I don't want.
But it makes me feel lonely. It makes me feel what I really am. Alone. Scared. And my thoughts always speak louder, and keeps on getting louder, and louder. Sometimes, I feel like it over powers me and that's why I am who I am. I never hide those thoughts. Because they scream at me, they scream and scream at me. Since I couldn't be honest to myself, I need to be honest with others.
I want to be honest with myself. I want my thoughts to talk me out of my own thoughts.
My mind thinks of stuffs I can't have, all of the things I don't have. I want to have someone to talk to. To be honest with. Someone who wouldn't judge. Someone I can say, "I tried to do it. And for the first time, the marks are there and it scares me because if someone finds out, I don't have a way out," I want a guy. I've always been fond of them. I think they're better than girls. They judge, but they are more on the truth than basing something out of nothing. They're more... real than girls.
In all honesty, I want a guy best friend who has a back bone. Who I can lean on, and while I wait for that day, I have... Microsoft Word, Wattpad, and a Book as mine. As my escape.










