To Create is How I Live.

Why Run, When Walking's Fine

I think sometimes I’m the only person on this earth. Feet wrapped in ivy vines holding me firmly to the ground. Unlike others - they’ve floated away.

I don’t need to move be happy; at least most of the time that’s true. The wind can move for me and the shuffling feet of the people around me is enough to not want to move, anyway.

It’s not that I don’t want to move or that I’ve completely stopped moving, it’s just that everyone is moving so quickly that I can’t keep up. So why move fast when no one is going to wait anyway?

It’s really lonely most of the time, but it’s really just self isolation because the fear that I’m going to look like an i***t - and be alone, too - is worse than just being alone.

The quietness that consumes my skull is saved for cheesy romance novels about werewolves. Their voices fill up the lonely gaping holes, that I don’t know how to fill. This becomes my sanctuary, where I can put myself into the story and be like everyone else and float around, aimlessly.

It’s been like this since I can remember - having to keep up, or be left behind. Nobody is going to wait for me; I can only hope that I find someone at moving the same pace. Maybe someone will hold my hand and pull me along and we can compensate for each other’s flaws.