Nothing brings comfort like being alone.

Sometimes you have to jump in without knowing the temperature of the water. Because the truth is, it might be freezing and it might make you wrinkly, but your body will become used to it. Out of the three rainbows I have managed to see this week, the first one was the best. Its odd to me how similar we as people all feel and think. We always think nobody else will understand but in actuality, they might be thinking the same thing. I crave a pulse pressed against my skin. Do not ask me why, but I just need a connection similar to the shock you get from walking on carpet with socks and touching a doorknob. I want to feel an electric current raise the hairs on the back of my neck and I want to project it onto the rainbows that I keep seeing. It's much like this feeling when you finish a book you've been reading for sometime. Its so exciting, and new and once you finish the end...you're not really sure what to do with yourself. I want to center myself around and idea of a peaceful mind, however, whilst my eyes are close, my mind thinks thoughts quicker than can be put into words. How many people would take the time to get to know me. How much certain albums and T.V. series make up of me. I want to be the book you read. I want to make you not know what to do with yourself. I want to read you. Know every story behind every scar. Memorize every freckle only to forget and then remember later. People are just people. Why is there so much electricity between hand touches and deep breaths? So much reassuring in wind that makes your hair tickle your scalp. You are not what you think you are. And do we actually all become the opposite of what we thought? Sometimes I cry for music. I cry for stories. I cry for the breeze. Sad and lonely, the breeze never belongs with anybody yet makes such an impact on the way we feel. I'm tired of my body quitting on me. That is to say, I'm tired of the back pain and the headaches but more importantly, I'm tired of tricking myself into thinking I am content when I am actually not. We all kind of lie to ourselves. Everybody lies. Its kind of sad that the only person you can actually believe in and trust is yourself: the person who lies to you the most. You aren't happy. I mean externally we can be happy but really deep down there is something we're always wanting and needing. And as much as we try to ignore it, that instinct is there. Lurking and waiting for a moment to become obvious to you and just because you recognize its there? Doesn't change a damn thing. Our body runs on sleep, our minds run on expose, but our hearts? They run on lies and comforting ideas of curling up into a ball and squeezing your eyes so tightly that tears can't possibly fall out of them, can they? You want to let the whole world in but all you do is shut it out. Nothing can penetrate your blankets and books and tea. Somedays we want to run as fast as we can hoping to eventually fall off the Earth, but we are simply not allowed to fall off. Someone once told me they envied a dying man. How absurd. But was he wrong? Are any of us ever really wrong? Everything can be chalked up to a gray area. Simplistically complicated. Twist me up and wring me out and tell me what exactly you see pour out of me. Is it beautiful? is it ugly? Another gray area. We all have demons we battle, who's to say yours are any different than mine? Instead of hiding them, why don't we let them play with each other? Let them distract each other. Riding backseat watching drop upon drop upon drop splash onto the glass when I was younger never occurred to me that it would be a significant memory. And in some ways, its not- but I remember. How much of me can I put into a container to save for later- another day-to share with someone who actually gives a damn? I'm tired. I am really fucking tired. I am so tired of putting in effort for no one to put in any back. And even furthermore- I'm tired that it hardly bothers me. A shrug, an eye roll. I should scream. I should scream at the top of my fucking lungs instead of being a clump of apathy. Because this is exactly who the fuck I am. I am a knot. I am a saint with demons. I am every single thing I need to be and every single thing you need me to be to. If only someone weren't too blind to see it. Being blind is a funny thing. Sometimes you don't see what you want. Sometimes you can't see what you need. I built a wooden box to contain my heart. Put it away for a rainy day-a day with rainbows. Maybe I'll bury it. Deep deep deep. A time castle. Centuries later they'll find it, dissect it and see more from it than anyone else has ever tried to. How pathetic. I want to be someone's drug. To leave a taste on your lips that you will never be able to shake from your mind, from under your skin. Something you'd never expect yourself to feel. To be slapped with unrecognizable feelings. To be prevalent and existing and every single part of your skin would miss the feeling of mine. We never really knew what to expect from ourselves as we tuned into what we became. Heroes-villains-standbys. The action is actually all around us and what fate have we chosen? Do we chose fate? Maybe we've all just been dead this entire time and this is Hell and we never even fucking knew. Surprise, surprise. My hands become shaky, my body stabs and stabs in pain and discomfort. Who are you? Who am I? Why don't we try and find out? Let's just be real here. Fear overpowers all. Or rather- comfort overpowers fear. So why don't you overpower yourself?