Shades of Monochromatic

I'm a normal girl with an overactive imagination.

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I think looking back I was never truly happy deep down...things did genuinely make me smile or exclaim in excitement, but was I ever a truly happy person growing up? I don't really think so. I think it became this blanket I wore, this appearance I put on because I suppose I wanted to believe it or if I couldn't believe in it, having others did helped to make me feel as if I had something special in me...when there really wasn't at all. And so just like kids on the playground played pretend and games of imagination with one another...happiness was my imagination.

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And so she split into two for many reasons...one being so that someone could take care of her...

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Sometimes I sit in my room, close my eyes and tilt my face up towards the ceiling light and pretend I'm not really here anymore...I'm somewhere far, somewhere where the sun falls softly on me and I'm happy... Deep down I knew the decisions I made in life might do this to me...and now I'm trapped. When you don't follow what really makes you happy, you never really are...

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When I can't sleep because too many thoughts encircle my mind, and I lay in bed wide awake because of it...I choose to write. A choice I have not resorted to for quite some time...a long time. I write to rid some of these thoughts from my mind, even if I choose not to write about these very things now. Just the mere act of emptying some small pocket of my thoughts will do me some good. Why haven't I written in so long you wonder? I used to will myself to write when a thought occurred from within that I wanted to further explore and expand. And I derived so much pleasure from pushing myself to expand and improve my writing abilities, or just the mere act of writing to remember something of importance or self-expression of a thought or a moment, and most of all returning to read what I had written and reading a permanent remnant of the person I was in that past moment. And to the reader, I love to write in riddles and rambles at times...because similar to myself I often never reveal the true image or words of anything. As you can tell already there's no real purpose to this post, I'm writing what comes to mind and I quite enjoy the lack of direction. It's a bit like my life secretly. A part of me greatly misses this, these words, these sentences, this feeling...and I suppose I ran away from it all. Words that I wrote used to provide me with such comfort and identity and they still do to an extent...but they echo such a time when words were painful, when they only represented such helplessness, darkness, and emptiness...an identity I left behind and yet still carry with me. This blog has long since died and I want to leave it save for a few early months of entries that mean something to me. But it's time to start a new one...as soon as a new name rings in my ears and calls me forward.

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I was never enough...

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I'm the bird that couldn't fly, so I became the hand and you became my bird that could...

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I'm scared..

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To give so much of myself only to feel so empty in return...

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And I always just wanted to be a bird, so I could fly infinitely and be free...

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It's something about all the little things you've done lately that makes me feel my worth, something I don't want to ever forget or push aside. They're all simple gestures but they speak so loudly and clearly to me. I like the simple things after all don't I? It's these simple things of yours that make me feel so whole.

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Don’t ever take me for granted okay?

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I'm just scared...

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