the centre of my body flattened

Have been rather angry lately for not accepting, no the word I like to use is ‘embrace’, for not embracing what I have. I’m okay. The writing… Some nights I feel so weird… like I’m doing this all alone, this art of writing stories, the one thing that has brought my sanity back to me, this one art that I go about alone, no one knows about it… It’s okay. I don’t need others to know about it. I will write my book. Then they will know about it. I don’t even need all of them to know about it. Just a few thinking people who read and say ah… I understand. That sort of thing will put me in instant heaven. Or to make the heavy-hearted person a little lighter… that’s good too.

But for me, standing in the empty parking lot as the sun sets behind gray clouds makes me so lonely. It takes someone special to be with someone special and how I see myself to be special, and the word ‘special’ really doesn’t say much, and that’s because I don’t know too much what I am, if only I can draw this contour of myself in solid pencil, but no I wouldn’t want that because I would be trapped on paper, and when they try to erase me, they rub me so hard yet the remains of my lines still lie on the page and that would hurt. But what I mean is it’s nice to have someone sit with you in empty parking lots. I’m lonely. But what have I done to make myself worthy of someone? I need to buy some new clothes. I need to talk to people. I need to sleep better. I need to take better care of myself and not feel tired so much. Ah, there, that’s what I need.

While sitting in lecture I had a thought, I said to myself, wait a minute, I’m young, it’s all in my hands if I want to change, things are still exciting, and they will always be because I have vowed never to grow up. I’m willing to pay the price. But really, I’m not all that special. Really, you won’t even notice me. And I like it that way, like for this book I’m working on, no one knows about it, but it will be written, I don’t say nothing about my work, but my book will happen. I don’t mean to thump my nose at nobody. I just want to make a connection with people in a way that is more out of the way for I don’t always feel at myself when I’m with somebody, I feel more at myself when I’m writing, typing, when words are coming out of me. Isn’t that sad? It makes me think if there’s someone out there as crazy as me. We shall fall in love.