faded colors, blurred lines

Because 99% of the time, I am pretending to be the person that I think I want to be.

You think I am spontaneous, passionate, and invigorating.

I am not.

Every action, planned. Every expression, calculated. Every decision, part of a longer plot, designed to manipulate the grander scheme, in an attempt to be somebody I'm not.

it never shuts up

and keeps telling me how I'm

not good enough

not pretty enough

not important enough

to be loved by you

or else you would call more

I try to fight but what do I do when I feel like i can't even compare to a game

that I'm not comforting enough for you to want to talk to me first

and so all I can do is lie here

crying

thinking about how

I struggle to wrap my head around the fact that you're so far away.

I long to be back in the familiar places where people know me and I know them.

I miss the warmth of your voice and the comfort that I find in your embrace.