Last night I saw a shooting star,
I made a wish.
For the first time,
In a long time,
I didn't wish for you.
I didn't wish for you to be mine,
Like I've done on my last few birthdays.
"Did you make a wish?"
My mother always asked,
"Yeah, I did..."
I would sigh.
I would believe,
For a split second,
That my wish would come true.
That you would fall for me,
The way I fell for you,
Many moons ago.
I did once wish on a shooting star for you,
Imagining you looking up at that same star,
Whilst it twinkled in your blue eyes,
As you would make the same wish about me.
Alas, I know you too well,
And that's not you.
I often wondered,
"Why waste this wish on what I know will never come true?"
I tried to stop,
I really did.
But somehow, deep down,
I always felt,
Wishing for you was never a waste,
Because you are not a waste!
You are empowering,
You are thoughtful,
You are truly remarkable.
Every wish was worth it.
Eventually, my wish changed.
I still wished for you.
I wished for you to be happy.
A wish should represent the thing you want most,
All I've ever wanted,
Is for you to be happy.
Last night I made a wish,
One with the same level of priority to me as your happiness.
I wished for my happiness.
I wished for my future.
This might sound insignificant,
But for a very long time,
My future was going to be me walking on the clouds above,
My future was never getting past age seventeen.
My future is now bright,
Like a star in a dark sky.
I'm not saying I'll never wish for you again,
I feel like my wishes came true in ways I never imagined.
Nothing has changed between us,
Only now I realise that's what I really needed.
I'm not afraid of the dark anymore.
I'm a permanent resident in it now.
Light is no where to be seen,
That is unless you're not me.
I fear the people around me
They don't live in the dark,
Or at least,
Not in my dark.
They don't understand.
They don't try.
They can't comprehend it.
They can't even lie.
They don't see me.
They see what they want.
This isn't real,
But maybe I'm not real.
Days get longer,
Life gets shorter.
They get older,
I get closer.
Death is unreal,
It might suit me better.
I'm already near enough to the ground.
Why not get closer?
No one listens.
I always listen.
I care too much.
I'm too nice.
I can't say no.
I hate lying.
I must be honest.
I can't be,
I always say yes.
I want to scream no.
I don't know who I am.
I don't know what to tell you.
I just need someone,
Someone who tries to understand.
I don't think they exist.
I won't let them exist.
I want myself to fail.
I want you to stop me.
I live to have attention.
I hate people looking at me.
Eye contact scares me.
I'd die for attention.
Don't hold me,
It'll be ok.
It won't be.
Hold me tightly,
Tell me I'm loved,
Keep saying it until I believe it.
I don't think I'll ever believe it.
I don't trust anyone.
Everyone wants to hurt me.
They even do it without trying.
I rarely say I love you,
I need to believe,
Believe that you are not one to hurt me,
I find it hard to write,
I find it harder to say.
If I love you,
That doesn't go away.
Love is unreal
It doesn't suit me.
I get too attached.
I have too much hope in people.
I know not to expect anything,
I hope that you'll be there.
I don't expect you to be.
I hope I find my purpose.
I don't expect to.
I know nothing.
Our only similarity.
I know you.
Wish you could know about me?
Maybe ask a question.
Maybe take an interest.
Don't brush over the difficult things.
I don't hate you.
I sometimes want to hate you.
I hate how you make me feel.
I hate that you don't care.
As I sit in silence in my isolated bedroom,
I am surrounded by darkness.
The room is only lit up by the light of the computer screen.
How depressing this must seem.
I, a girl of youth, up 'til all hours, online.
I should be well-rested.
I should wake up early and happy.
I should be energetic and excited.
I should do a lot of things.
Alas, I don't do them.
Every moment is fleeting.
I waste time, I waste everything.
I often ponder what the world would be like without me.
Surely it would not be much different.
Perhaps a little more cheery and positive,
As I do nothing but spread negativity.
I am greedy.
I am never happy with what I have.
Or,at least, not until recently.
You see, I found a kindred spirit.
I don't know if she is real.
She must be, as my imagination is limited.
Writing is my only creative path.
She makes me question reality.
Happiness is very rare for me.
I am not a happy person.
I can act happy.
I have always been told I could never be an actor.
All because I act happy.
I do it with such conviction they believe it to be true.
My happy demeanor, is not serious and thus I lack discipline.
I am told I would laugh at the call of action.
Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't.
She makes me believe I could do anything.
She thinks I am intelligent.
She has too much faith in this waster.
I feel as though I don't act around her.
I forget my woes, I forget life is happening.
Time freezes and my heart softens.
Contrasting the constant tense,clenched feeling of my constrained heart.
Sometimes emotional anguish can take physical form.
My heart hurts in more ways than one.
One day it will stop,
Maybe then I can rest.
Love makes people crazy.
But what if you're already crazy?
I love people too much.
I am crazy.
Have you ever wanted to hug someone,
Hug them so tight, that you make them feel your love?
What reaction would this cause?
A sympathetic almost equal hug back.
Love is never equal.
One always cares more than the other.
I am always that one.
One left alone with a teddy and a wish.
I wish to be loved and hugged tightly with such love,
But a teddy will never hug back.
Will my wish ever come true?
Am I stuck in a perpetuating cycle of despair?
She makes my wish seem possible.
I push her away.
I push everyone away.
I know she will start to pull away.
She will grow tired of me.
I am tired of me.
If you looked inside my brain,
You would see how exhausting it is to be me.
Each day I consider to be my last.
I got up today,
Will I get up tomorrow?
Do I have reason to?
Even if I did,
I need to reason with myself.
"This reason is reason enough,
I need to get out of bed."
Existing is exhausting.
I exist, I live, I breathe.
I love, I hate, I break.
A lot goes on in the mind of the quiet.
A lot goes on in the mind of the loud.
The quiet hears their brain yelling.
The loud hears an eerie whisper that echoes,
Echoing until the loud listens.
Even in the most isolated,silenced of places,
It will never be quiet.
You are never truly alone.
Your thoughts accompany you everywhere.
Thinking,thinking, and then what?
Why won't the thought translate itself?
Thoughts are peculiar!
We can think about something, but not talk about it.
The thought can't be put into words.
"What's wrong with you?"
The thought is there but you can't explain it.
Nobody knows how to explain it.
You try to force the changing of a thought into speech,
You stutter and stammer until you find a seemingly appropriate word.
It's still not right,
But what ever is?