Chilling-Words

I make my reality.

It was like gently swinging on a rope, back and forth for hours, or sitting in a tree that was slowly swaying in the wind.  It was laying in the sun on a warm day when the temperature was just right.  Not too hot, not too cold.   It wasn’t excessive happiness, it wasn’t joy or thrill.  It was just a general sense of contentment.  Anything more than that feels fake.  It’s just not feeling a need to move from where I am.  It’s a glass of cold lemonade, not super cold, but just chilled enough to appreciate fully.  It’s looking at that lemonade, and not necessarily appreciating the flavor, but more appreciating the fact that it exists.  There is no excitement in this feeling.  It’s very calm, whole.  There is no ambition; there is no drive to do better.  This feeling is simply appreciating existence.

I wasn't born to be soft and quiet.  I was born to make the world shatter and break at my fingertips.

As my story came to a close I realized, I had been the villain all along.

To the other children, his presence would be that of a ghost, floating from room to room, there, but not.

It's easier being no one.

Her words were like a rose, gleaming with the dew of deception.

Paintings are often of war.  The most beautiful art, the masterpieces, are the ones born during hardship...

I felt my heart being torn apart, not with the cold, mechanical quality of a scalpel, but with the blazing fury of a serrated hunting knife that's rusting at the edges.

He was stronger than his mind.

His pain for the boy was rage.

And to think, I'd almost thought myself normal for a moment.  Freak is written all over me, and it will never go away.

My blood ran cold and hot simultaneously.  Blue with fear, and red with anger.

You're right, I'm not a monster.  But humans... We're so much worse.