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Liz Thenardier Dec 2012
None of it seems meaningful.
Why waste time scratching on a page, when it all feels like garbage?
I need to convince myself, before anyone else, that it matters.
That I matter.
Because, I do, I guess.
Don't I?
Certainly I must.
Why else would awesome people, amazing people, phenomenal people, give a **** about me?
They matter, so logically speaking, I must.
It doesn't matter if what I say feels useless or self-serving.
It matters, because I matter.
Because people that matter love me.
And I love the,
And isn't that really why anyone matters?
To love, to care, to contribute?
Love, love above all else, is truly what matters. What makes life worth living.
What makes us all matter.
Liz Thenardier Dec 2012
Something.

Write...something.

Headphones on, and the music is pounding loudly, draining out every thought but that.
"Something".
Every second of every minute of every day, I have a billion thoughts.
Most of them are meaningless, but a few aren't. They all scream out for attention.
Sometimes I yell for them to stop.
Sometimes I cry, begging them to take their time.
Each in turn, each in sequence.
But it's always a thousand thoughts, a thousand voices wanting to be heard.
Princesses needing to be saved.
Heroes wanting to save them.
Drug addicts, down on their luck, looking for a way out.
Teenagers who hate their parents. Parents who hate their kids.
A girl whose just fallen in love, and the guy who doesn't want to give her the chance.
A million ideas. A million seeds, wishing they could bloom into anything. Something.
So the headphones pump on, inspiring me to write them down. Giving them the chance to become something.
Liz Thenardier Dec 2012
Something.

Write...something.

Headphones on, and the music is pounding loudly, draining out every thought but that.
"Something".
Every second of every minute of every day, I have a billion thoughts.
Most of them are meaningless, but a few aren't. They all scream out for attention.
Sometimes I yell for them to stop.
Sometimes I cry, begging them to take their time.
Each in turn, each in sequence.
But it's always a thousand thoughts, a thousand voices wanting to be heard.
Princesses needing to be saved.
Heroes wanting to save them.
Drug addicts, down on their luck, looking for a way out.
Teenagers who hate their parents. Parents who hate their kids.
A girl whose just fallen in love, and the guy who doesn't want to give her the chance.
A million ideas. A million seeds, wishing they could bloom into anything. Something.
So the headphones pump on, inspiring me to write them down. Giving them the chance to become something.

— The End —