There is a defining thing for me at this point, and that's that I have learned to live for art. I have learned that people are too faulty and fickle. So many fall into themselves and crumble like a poorly made sculpture, and I know that I can always try to rebuild them, but trust me when I say I've tried so many different times that by now I know they'll be different each time.

I stopped telling people my problems and my stories and I encased what "dead silence" is to the point where the silence that I radiate scares some people. The way I'm bad at crying and laughing and feeling makes some people run the opposite direction. If only you people could understand that the words bleed out onto paper as metaphors and the feelings are different shades of paint that you'll never be able to pinpoint as the right emotion. It's just that drawing paper and canvases and notebook paper and landscapes listen a lot better than so many of those **** things with their ears, and my hands are much better at telling things than my mouth is. The sounds of non-existent chords I play and the ambiguity behind the hums are not something I can explain to you, they're just a way I can talk without speaking.

I am bad at committing to anything except myself, dying, and these songs.

The way they talk, they let me know that it's becoming too hard to love someone who doesn't talk as much as they should, it's hard to love a puzzle when there's so many missing ******* pieces and no picture to look off of.
If only they understood.