Alright...

Old post on draft.. Written 10/2012

Alright, maybe I have changed.
I don’t spend my time relating my life to a soap opera anymore.

I’ve realized my life is what I make it (yes, a Hannah Montana reference -.-), and I have made it extremely complicated these past years. Now that I have ‘grown up’ and I’ve seen and experienced more things, I can set my mind on where ever I need it to go.

Insider: You do realize that by writing this you’re just making everything a inner conflict with what you don’t want to think about, right?
Myself: Yes. Yes, I do.

I challenged myself to be social, random, interesting; all for the same reason I’ve always wanted to be that way: to be accepted.

Well, guess what? Congratulations! You’ve just been accepted by the 1000+ people you’ve ever met! Now what?

You don’t speak to them, you don’t see half of them, you barely like ¼ of them, and you envy at least 1/100 of them. But then again your focus is only on one of them; or in this case two.

And of course, this one person you focus on is a douche. Yes, yes, you won’t realize this until your phase is over, but accordingly, yes, he is nothing but a big douchebag. ‘Why?’ you ask? Let me just take you on a ride to your past…

Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind
DONE!

How was that? Was it refreshing enough?
Alright then, back to the douche.
McJerk just walks in, says something nice, walks away, destroys all hope possible, you move on, it comes back with excellent news, all hopes are restored, you lay as many cards as you can, it doesn’t like your hand and POW! It strikes out with 4 motherfucking aces right in your face, and you send the world to hell.
Story of my goddamn life.

It’s like I prey on these events to happen to me over and over again, like if I were an addict.

But I’ve grown, I say, how is it possible?

To see it for what it is, we gave up.

Oh, Emerald.
You poor lost soul.
Everyday, you wake up from your dreams to a world of reality.
Realities that sometimes catch you completely off guard, making you believe you're not able to handle them; that your dreams are a better alternative to what goes on in the real world.

Remember that post I promised you a year back?
I think it's the proper time to relive the memories, and hopefully give them a well-anticipated final goodbye.

I was blind. My eagerness to become someone different, made me trust talking fruits. The apple spoke to me, and I listened. He said I was someone different; that no one could take away how special I was. I soaked up in every word he said. It gave me balance. Confidence. Bravery. I felt as if I could conquer the world; but something was holding me back. You see, when beauty is flashed in front of your eyes, you can barely see the big picture. The brightness of it blocked my previous views, my deep memories, my old life, and I couldn't see what was wrong. All I could see was that chance of being perfect; that hope of being great.
They say you don't know what you have until it's gone.
It's gone.
I never had anything at all.
It was an illusion.
Fruits can't define you. Fruits can't talk.

I was loud. My intention was to cure a silenced voice; a mute. I saw in him the wasted talent I thought I had. As egotistical as I am, everything thing he would do was a reference to me, naturally. He was quiet; I found fruits spoke for him at times. Those times when he did try communicating, his talent would compensate for all that was unsaid. But I intervened; I felt he was being stepped on, and misunderstood. I thought I had the power to bring his voice to life. I thought. My mistake. I took his voice and silenced it myself. I never listened; I never heard his voice.
They say walls have eyes.
They also have ears.
Mutes cannot define you. Mutes can't talk.
They listen.

I was bored. I craved adventures, new experiences, and love. I didn't want to settle down after finding love on the first try. I felt I hadn't seen enough to know what love actually was. I knew there had to be someone out there who was perfect in my eyes. But perfection doesn't exist. If it did, what made me believe I deserved it? A self-righteous maniac with depression deserves perfection; what a joke. I take love for granted. I'm still not clear on what it really is... or if I actually deserve it. He cares. I don't. Romantics at it's finest.
They say you accept the love you think you deserve.
I don't know if I do.
It's complicated.
It's actually simple.
Love can't define you. Love won't shut up.


I give up.