Everybody always quotes about laying in bed at night, alone and depressed, but nobody ever states what it feels like to lie in the comfort of your own bed at any hour of the day, with no one to take and give comfort to. You're alone in the sunlight, empty and distressed over the fact that you have no one at all to spend your time with. The day is when you are meant to have fun, and be with people, but when you are explicitly alone then, well, that is when you feel the most deflated and dejected.

It doesn't matter how much people try to include me or how much I include myself. I'll always be different to everyones eyes. I'll always be an outcast, an outsider...

If i'm in a bad mood, don't come near me. I don't want to hurt you.

There was a time in my life when the beginning felt like the ending.

    It was a new city, a new place, and the dullness in my old one made this one shine brighter than anything i've ever seen before.
I left behind everything for a new start, yet I can't seem to like it all that much.

    I know that it doesn't seem all that much to think over, but i didn't just leave all my friends back, i left something dearest to me. I loved that with all my heart, yet I had to shove it away because of circumstances that I never wanted in the first place.

    I may have lost something that I loved, but it was a loss i had to take. I may feel slightly bad because of this, but for the most part, all I feel is relief. The ease of the bereavement of pain that, that something caused me is the overall sensation that courses through my body.

    This was when the ending felt like the beginning.

    It was the end of something that brought about distress, and the new of something that will make me into something a million times better.

    All in all, what this brought was a feeling of affluence, and I never regretted it for a second.

I don't think anyone could love books as much as I do.

You never know how broken someone really is until they give you a part of themselves.

A criminal with a goal is dangerous. One without any is lethal.

I don't get offended when people criticise me because nobody can hurt me more than i've hurt myself.

Depression is when the clouds leave you for a while, but they stand, hovering, remnants of it leaked into the atmosphere, and if one little thing goes haywire, well, then it comes back. And hard. It is not something that can go and stay for a little while. It's always there, hovering, waiting for the right time to strike.

Depression and anxiety
     is a complete
               and utter
                       contradiction.

                                                      You're body
                                                 says '**** it.'
                                       while your mind
                                         says 'what if?'

“But Eve… Different isn’t always a good thing.” Said Annabeth, oblivious, in a state of self-loathing,

At first, Eve was silent, basking, shocked of how this lively girl just spoke not so lively. But then…

“Different is always a good thing. In the simplicity of society, where each and every body is demanded to be the same, where everyone aspires towards fitting in with the standards shoved into their faces, and where those who stray from this very path are labeled as outcasts, change is a good thing. In fact, change, the metamorphosis of the very nature of this world, is needed. Without it, everyone would not even know that they are following the direction in which our community persuades. In fashion, you are not. Astray from the normal, you are. But do not ever think of this as a terrible thing. You, with your skinny frame, blatant display of ribs and bones, bloodshot eyes, pale skin and the miniscule amount of hair on your head, though may not be perceived as something normal, are more than what they are- those who label you as such. Do not listen to those who tell you that you are sick and do not belong in this world anymore. You are not sick because of that, but because God willed it. In all his Glory, he willed you to be sick and come to him quicker than anyone would have thought. That, my dear, makes you special. Different, a definition of it is to not be like another person, and life, my precious Anna, would completely miserable and uninteresting, you see, if there were to be a world of sameness. A personal hell, I would call it, a wormhole of insanity. So, Annabell… Different, as you and every other person on this Earth is, is actually a phenomenal thing. A phenomenal thing indeed…”

It so painful when you're a really cheerful person, but in reality, you're dying inside.

Your way of escaping was sleeping, or drinking. My way was books.

Half the time I tell myself that i'm a good person with a good heart, and the other half I tell myself that I'm a bad person with a cruel heart.

You don't have to die a fighter to be a hero.

It wasn't that I didn't want to go, it was that I couldn't.

Its funny. People often see me as a child with no outlook on the real world. They don't know. They don't know that I probably know the world better than they ever will.

I never deemed myself as someone important, never thought of myself as someone worthy of acknowledgement from the world. I knew I wasn't the brightest star or the prettiest sky. I always thought of myself as the one hidden beneah the clouds. It was I who was always a shadow, a beautiful darkness that not everyone will come to know. There was nothing that amazing about me to those who couldn't truly see me, and yet I still manage to take comfort that only those who are perceptive and worthy enough will be able to see the true beauty that shines from within myself. It's exhilarating to know that I was found from the people who actually saw me as who I am, and not just the fabrication of the brightness shining from the moon, hiding its very, lonely dark side.

In a world where monsters have the good in them and humans have the evil, I don't know which side to take.

I once told my friend that the only drugs, alcohol and boys I need are in books. I didn't know how true that was until later.

I read the poems and quotes brought out from books, but I don't actually read the novels they come from. I like to keep a little mystery in my life.

And i'm not coping. No matter how much you think I am, no matter how much I try to show that I am; it hurts too much. It hurts everyday and I can't relieve myself of this aching pain in my chest and the heaviness of it all. I try and I try but I just can't. It just, simply, hurts too much.

I hate it when people ask me why instead of buying books I just read online or on the iPad or phone, as it is 'cheaper', or if I buy books, I only 'read it once' and leave it, it being 'a waste of money'.

They don't understand. People have different interests, but they... they are still similar. Art lovers, would you rather paint or draw or express your work on a canvas, or on an app, free, on a Tablet?

It isn't the same experience.

To those who obsess over movies, do you not watch a movie over and over again till you cry and weep and fall to the ground?

It's just like the first time around.

Music one of your loves? Would you feel the same love you would feel illegally downloading music for free than you would buying it off iTunes?

It doesn't feel right.

Do you love to sing or dance or play an instrument? Do you feel the same thrill as you would singing or dancing or playing piano or guitar to an app, than actually using your own voice, body or instrument?

It's not the same.

Is racing one of your hobbies? Does flinging your finger fast on an app or on a controller give you the same sense of freedom and enthusiasm that speeding down a track, cold, bitter air thrusting onto you as if it could take you away to other realms and universes?

It feel's weird.

Love sleep much? Could daydreaming give you the same escape that sleep does, could it ****** you into a world of fantasy and adventure and comedy and romance the same way sleeping and dreaming can?

It doesn't feel natural.

Is eating one of your loves? Could watching someone make some delicious, mouth-watering food on youtube give you the same happy, uplifting experience as actually baking or eating it?

It isn't the same.

Love the world? Wish you could travel? Do you enjoy looking at pictures on the internet of the many places you yearn to visit? Or do you enjoy the experience of actually visiting the so called place you desired to go to, to see the images in real life than to look at what little detail a camera off of a phone could give you.

It doesn't look right.

Enjoy education much? Love the experience of knowing things, of adding on to your knowledge. Is watching a video on youtube of the tour guide of the museum you desperately wanted go to better than actually going to the place yourself?

It isn't the same experience.

Do you even like drinking? Like the escape of reality and thrill drugs or alcohol gives you? Would you rather drink water and juice than drink ***** or do ****?

It's doesn't feel right.

Are you a stamp collector? Would you rather collect online or go to little vintage shops and actually buy the product?

Its not the same.

Love shopping much? Rather buy the product online than actually looking at the variety of clothes and notebooks and couches? Does it give you the same sense of happiness.

It doesn't feel as good.

Maybe even love cheese tasting, or kissing, hugging, talking to your family, jumping on a bouncy castle, going to playgrounds, running, swimming, going to the gym, playing basketball, tennis, soccer, squash, badminton, collecting bath bombs, playing games, going to the park, playing with your pet, actually having a pet, dolling up your house? Would you rather do all these things virtually? Or physically, as it originally was before technology came in and 'made things better'.

That's what I thought.

It isn't the same.

It may be better, or cost less, or not worry others as much, and maybe the things you enjoy doing aren't actually right to do, and maybe it's wrong, but that doesn't mean it isn't right to them.

So, don't come up to me and tell me to go to the library and borrow books just to fall in love with it then return and let go of it. Don't tell me reading online is a better option. Don't tell me that i'm just wasting money, space. Don't tell me that its just a waste.

And, for the love of God, don't tell me . . .
Don't tell me that I should just not read at all.

Don't tell me that there are betters things out there to do.

There is nothing, no better option out there for me but reading.

*It isn't the same.

I don't write to get noticed. I write to get people to notice.

"We're all gonna die. We're gonna die, Alex. In the end, life shortens, and we're gone. Thats why we do things that makes us feel alive."

I realise only now that its true when people say that I get lost in my books. I could start off on chapter 12, and then a while later, a time i have absolutely no knowledge of, I see chapter 18 printed at the top of the page. I get so lost in it that I don't even realise that I get lost in it. That's how much I love books.

"What is your talent? Can you show me?" He asked me, obliviously.

"My affinity isn't something that can be seen." I replied. "It isn't a fancy circus trick, like juggling, nor is it the astonishing spectacle of a painting. It isn't the beauty of a voice, or the magnificent sound of music to the ears. My ability is from the inside, from the way one simple sentence could turn your whole life around. It's the way words could understand you like nobody ever can, the way quotes or phrases fill the emptyness of your heart, and the way it awakens a sensation you may have never been able to feel before. So, no, I cannot show you what my talent is, as it is the way I can transfer a set of emotions to you with just the enunciation of a word."

And with that, I, yet again, rendered another soul speechless.

Is it bad that everytime the pain leaves me, I want it to come back?

It isn't true when people say pain heals over time. Sure, you move on, and sure, you live your life again, but the agony never leaves you. Time only allows you to survive, to handle the pain that you have.

A beautiful spring day
Happened a fallen falcon
Left in the wind
To rot
And with it came
The forgotten embers of a
White-washed lion
Ready, waiting, preying
To pounce.

It still stuns me, to this day, that there are some people out there who don't enjoy reading, who the string of words and the scent of used pages in between the covers of a book don't give them any sort of pleasure. Who despise literature and art and love. Who dislike it for the sole reasoning that society does not like it. Reading isn't about what everyone else finds pleasure in - it may not be *** or food or sleep, but it's something, and few people hold dear to it. Reading is about what you like. Not everyone else - you. People hold to belief that words, though may pleasure some people, do not do anything for the world. They do not save lives or seek justice or help secure society or regulate a country and the needs of an individual. Sure, without professions like the medical and legal and political ones, there may be no lives, at all. But without books, without art and music and passion, there would be no love, and there would be no reason to live.

Reading has always been my escape, my consolation. So I have come to the conclusion that if I were to be unfocused by the words that are written between the pages, then something in my life has gone amiss. That in itself tells me that I cannot continue to read this book until the problem has at least become bearable, because one cannot escape reality if it is pulling you in at the strongest it can go.

Sometimes, just sometimes, saying nothing at all speaks louder than a million other words you'll try to say.

The heart was a delicate place. To scratch it was greater treason than regicide.

The saddest thing is that I no longer feel the pain of someone leaving me. I'm used to it.

To the outcasts, the freaks
To the silent ones, the unheard
To the criers, the broken
To the heartless, the damaged
To the screamers, the closed off
To the drowners, the dying
To the breathers, the living
To the strong, the weak
To the flimsy, the fragile
To the suicidal, the struggling
To the raging, the bitter
To the sad, the lonely
To the misunderstood, the confused
To the 'why don't you talk,' the 'why don't you shut up?'
To the 'it's all in your head,' the 'It's not important enough'
To the 'stop acting,' the 'stop faking'
To the 'stop being so dramatic,' the 'there are people worse off than you'
To the 'shut up,' the 'you're making no sense'
To the 'I don't understand,' the 'nobody feels this way'
To the 'I can't help you,' the 'get over it'
To the 'you're weird,' the 'this isn't normal'
To the 'go away,' the 'nobody wants you here'
To the 'you break everything you touch,' the 'just die already'
To the 'broken ones,' the 'freaks'
To everyone, to always
To whatever you do, whatever you say
To everything, to everyday
You are not alone.
~ hk

People don't comprehend that there are two ways of understanding; one is by having been in the situation, and the other is by listening in to the conditions.

All the good moments are always unplanned

It's odd how everytime I want to drill the world out I turn my music up higher.

It wasn't the words you spoke to me that got to me. It was the fact that you actually spoke it...

It hurts so bad to have to always be the second choice. I'm never put first, no matter how hard I try...

How is it that, the night is always much more beautiful than the day?

It's ironic that the only statement soaring through my mind is the query as to how I may shut this thing off...

How wonderful it is, to find another with the same taste as your own.

I just have this wave washed over me and it isn't drying away.

I read a lot, so when I finish reading one book, I always have another to keep me going. Sometimes I get too sleepy, so I read one chapter of the new book to fuel me through the night. It's like getting a new episode of a show each week. The first one is a teaser, and it drills you on and pushes your mind to go to incredible places, and when you get a chance to continue reading, well, that puts your heart into a place where it can soar and fly, withering through the skies.

Oh, how I wish that everything will just get over and done with...

"Why did you hug me?"* She asked the elder lady, obviously astounded. She had not felt such incredible sensation in so long that she'd nearly forgotten how it felt to have someone express his or her altruism towards her.

"You looked like you deeply needed it," The woman said.
"A frown was placed at your lips, something that shouldn't be there."

That may have been all that was said, but it was enough to have warmth rush into her agonized and pain-filled heart.

There are two types of ways to be alone; one is by your own choice, and the other is by everyone else's.