When asked to describe myself, I’d like to think about me as a good person. Not nice or kind-hearted, just, plain good. And I guess everyone else would like to do the same.
But the problem with good thinking about yourself is that it doesn’t always stop at just that. Sometimes, I can get pretty fond of myself and i would start to think very highly of my own self portrait.
But actually, it only becomes a problem once other people’s opinions do not mirror quite well with the person i’d like to think i am. It hurts, of course. No, it’s very disappointing: to know that what you portray does not nearly match what others reflect upon, and to somehow feel lonely and hopeless within the abundance and diversity of characters surrounding your own shell.
I wanted to blame myself, and perhaps myself only. Very much, indeed. You can’t really account people for the mistakes you give them, or for the flaws and mishaps in your behavior, and you certainly can’t account them for the echoing yet subtle chest pain that creeps into the darkest of nights when only tears can soothe you to sleep.
It’s nobody’s fault that you’re always so sad. And it’s not your fault that nobody seems to know, either. But still, i wanted to blame myself for all of it; because if i keep being a coward then who is there to save the day? To save my sunny, sunny day?
I don’t know how or when this would end. In fact, i have no freaking idea if it would ever end. To be the beast amongst them, to be the beast amongst you… I simply don’t know if I belong here, in this very life that I would soon be nostalgic for on my very last breath. Do i even belong here anymore? Do i even live here anymore? Do I even live, anymore?
One of these days, i hope someone would find me, but not Me; not the person you get to see everyday with the infamous furrowed brows, or the automatic irritated expression that seems impossible to switch off, or even the annoyingly contagious laughter that you get to hear once in a few moons… One of these days, i just hope someone would get to see this broken person, find the well hidden soul between the endless lines of ambiguous words and well written nonsense laid bare within every page of my personal notes. Find it. They don’t have to say a word. Just find that broken soul. Let it be known of. As simple as that.
… Do it for me, the weak and hopeless creature that quietly lives its life among the others’.