untitled no.2

I think the permanence of the internet is freaky. Is this what people will pull up to reference on their screens when my day comes?

I used to feel that I must be “special,” as if could see through things.

It’s similar to being an attention-deprived child, wanting nothing more but to grab something tangible. A “thing” that’d make your existence worthy of someone else’s time. It didn’t matter who. So you’ll do silly things, like swear to all your school friends that you could ‘move things with your mind!” Or maybe at the playground, you’d act like the scrape on your knee, still fresh with blood and sand, stung more than it did.

The pain was bearable. You didn’t need your boo-boo kissed, yet you whined it was necessary. You ran back to the playground and hopped back onto the climbing wall to try again. This time with the reassurance that someone cared about you. And wondering whether you’d climb higher this time.

Playing pretend. We all hope to be much grander than we are.

As time passes, I can look at my past selves (because there are many) more objectively. At least I hope to. So when I reanalyze some of my...questionable, experiences from as early as a year ago, some self-imposed and others thrust upon me, I figure— I am just like any other person at the end of it all. I mean how different can you get? How much variety? There are only so many ways you can think that ‘yeah no THIS is what sets me apart’.

I suppose I am just any other girl.

Does one’s ability to relate to me thus make me like them? Does that make me no longer “different” enough?

“I suppose I am just any other girl”

This role of girl. One day it’ll turn into “woman” or perhaps “young lady”. How strange.