I've come to realize in this massively dissociative city  that I'm lonely and unhappy. Much in the same way magazine covers don't seem to reflect the image I'd really like to see in myself. I'm chasing the tail of a dream that died long before I had the time to develop an admiration for pets. I would like to take care of something, and in turn, something to take care of me. But I have created a life bent on self-efficiency and cold realism-- a life without dependency. I don't know whether this is due to nature, nurture, or belief… but it is my blunt and isolated reality. What am I doing? Who am I proving life to? I came out here to experience a dream beyond my imagination, but all I found was ****. The same **** I find everywhere else. The only constant is people like you. Those who understand and care for my well-being. My family and friends. I want so badly to feel at home again-- to be close to another person. Until then I am stringing myself up by my shoelaces and finding work where I can. Because the world I've found is one bent on financial security over passion, and the only passion I've felt is for those who care enough to see. But people here are blind to me.