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Why Am I Alive - Blog Posts
no one gets it...and even if they did, the universe is keen on not making our paths cross. I wish to meet him, the him as crazy and angry and sad as me, he understands phone lines don't help with depression, he'll see people talk about SH and think he deserves it but he'll never do it since he's too scared, he bed rots all day, his bed has become his casket, his only sense of enjoyment is the media he consumes, he has soulless dead eyes and a nose comparable to gods, his eyes are auburn and hair dark curly but what is the point of being beautiful if people use that against you too? what is the point of being ugly if people use that against you too? he tries manifestation, witchcraft, subliminals, anything— to stop the voices in his head saying "this is all meaningless." because no one wants to hear that, no one wants to share pain, only joy. "who will share my pain with me?" he wonders. he is me. he is everything i am and everything I'm not. and I want to cling to his skin, not just mine. and I want to feel him inside me, not just my fingers. and I want to look into his eyes, not just from my mirror. Voglio vivere e morire con lui.....but he's just, not, there.
