I can feel my sanity fleeing, harsh memories sliding through my fingers like sand.
I find comfort in isolation, because the fleeting feeling of acceptance by my peers becomes so minimal that it keeps me up at night.
There are millions of stars outside and I hope one day, far from now, when I can find a way to put in words just how hard it is that you can't love me back, we can lay there and count them together.
I dream of it.
But I also dream of being someone else and I have spent the past few years trying to correct an emotional abuse that just won't seem to fix itself. I won't get better until the existence of my internal isolation is so minimal that I won't have to hide under covers the second my sadness kicks in.
I meet people that are beautiful and I try to be beautiful, I try to sit straighter, I try not to push people away but I just can't be more than a wilting flower.