I'm just an average person, Capable of only being average. Doing only average things. And average is never ideal. Especially in the world we live in. So I gave up. I gave up on being average. I don't care if people see me as ordinary or ideal. I care about how I see myself. And I want to see the best version of me
Nothing going on with me, except for the fact that I am a broken mess who cannot be fixed, just like half the world. I'm just simply ordinary. But I don't care. I may be a broken mess, but I know I'm capable of doing more. I may not show it, but in my mind, the war I've been fighting has already long been lost. I gave up a long time ago. I've never settled on being average, so I gave up trying.
I looked at it. A desert of immaturity. And yet it’s glow was of a sensible way. It was made by geniuses to be foolish. It’s purpose set in stone but the infinity of variation is a beast not able to be tamed. Many would describe it’s touch as Coolish.
Many letters before have not had this present. The sands of time I would much rather have. It’s value is mostly Fruitless. A way of going. A way of forgetting the glory of where you have been. For if you want to go you must not want to remain. For it’s beauty was prophesied for many centuries after. But our will to find a temporary gradience, from that we cannot abstain. But we must as well corrupt it. For to taste it’s flavor we must puke it out. To have it’s beauty like a rose of thorns. Beauty Afraid. For laying their remember the wind of our birth and the wind of our end. Carry all things it tries but we resist our fortune. The ways we perceive your’s of the breath of our mind. A refreshing drink of molecules. Science it is not sound in this. But if it would explain this, it would be a process of Chemisorption. Fancy words bore and dull it. For I must slash the words and you slash the grass. A disservice to our eyes and it’s existence. Why must we have all these objects worth their merit in existence put up to auction?
A story about a String I saw on my blinds. (-_Ax1} -_a -_Bx1 -_C -_D - c D E F_)
I'm glad I live in an average place So that I can keep my breath Who cares about the lack of sights If my lungs keep me from death And sure it's not quite pretty But there's certainly some charm To back up quiet living Without tracheal alarm
Here's the thing about AVERAGE: its average I wanted to reach higher to be stronger, i wanted to show every one that i am MORE. So i became more, I trained HARDER, i pushed for more, and in return... I had NOTHING. i couldn't love myself because i was never enough, i forgot the feeling of a smile, i became empty, because i forgot who i was, and eventually i stopped trying to be more. Because, was Average really that bad?
If average is yourself than maybe you should strive for average.
It's been 3 years since we met September 15 2015 You never knew What I was going through till then And I never told you You told me it all started When I gave you an interview (I can't believe I forgot that, I don't have a clue, except I'd probs done it to get over the awkwardness and not feel like a ****-up) I've never remembered the date we met But I remember the day I guess that's more important, eh?
29.09.2018 The day we met apparently I did this interview sort-of with a form and everything. I only remember arranging the chairs. We were BFFs from day one. (‘You too?’ C. S. Lewis)