cachaemic

Lasta lalaithamin
2012-03-28 00:32:24 (UTC)

Short stories.

It's strange how I've started writing again. I feel so empty all the time, but somehow I keep writing. I thought I would be too empty for real words, but there you are.

There are scars where the skin used to be clear, and I always wondered what it would look like, decorated with thin white lines. But it's not like that, and I find that I care less and less what it looks like, as long as I can feel the sear and know the feeling. Because it's better than feeling nothing.

Sometimes I wonder what the people that surround me see, whether they see a happy, hyper, crazy girl like I often try to portray, or if sometimes they see the slip and they see that I'm a terrible mess.
The worst part is I don't even know why.

It's been a downhill slide for a while, but I thought I plateaued, thought it was was going straight for a while.
Apparently I was wrong.

I don't even know, at the moment. I'm not even sure why I'm writing here, there's no real point.
Maybe it's just to get it out there, even if I'm quite sure no one will see it. Perhaps it helps to make me believe that people care, who knows.

The nightmares are back. I don't want to do this again.




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