Insignificant
Sometimes I feel like the world is too big.
Like in comparison to EVERYTHING, there is so much, I can’t even begin to explain what entails everything on this small planet. Then there are things that don’t exist, and other people’s dreams, and other people’s lives. Other people. They scare me the most.
Mostly because they have their own lives that I am not a part of. Like …someone else goes places that I’ve never been to or never even will go to, they listen to their own music, do their own thing, know a million people I don’t. And when they try to tell me about it I feel so small and insignificant, because I am not even a part of their life, when my whole life revolves around me- because me being alive is the only constant- everyone’s life revolves around themselves. It’s so hard to think that I am to some people what they are to me. I don’t know what I’m saying half the time. I don’t like that people think bad things of me when they know as much about me as I do about them. I hate this- how I try to cover all the aspects of my thoughts and somehow still manage to come up short of what I wanted to say. It’s just like everyone has their own little life, all organized and shrink-wrapped and tucked away in a separate drawer than mine. I feel so disincluded on the larger scale of things. I don’t think I’ve even influenced many people in my lifetime. But what if I did and I didn’t even know it? There is so much I don’t know.
Like in comparison to EVERYTHING, there is so much, I can’t even begin to explain what entails everything on this small planet. Then there are things that don’t exist, and other people’s dreams, and other people’s lives. Other people. They scare me the most.
Mostly because they have their own lives that I am not a part of. Like …someone else goes places that I’ve never been to or never even will go to, they listen to their own music, do their own thing, know a million people I don’t. And when they try to tell me about it I feel so small and insignificant, because I am not even a part of their life, when my whole life revolves around me- because me being alive is the only constant- everyone’s life revolves around themselves. It’s so hard to think that I am to some people what they are to me. I don’t know what I’m saying half the time. I don’t like that people think bad things of me when they know as much about me as I do about them. I hate this- how I try to cover all the aspects of my thoughts and somehow still manage to come up short of what I wanted to say. It’s just like everyone has their own little life, all organized and shrink-wrapped and tucked away in a separate drawer than mine. I feel so disincluded on the larger scale of things. I don’t think I’ve even influenced many people in my lifetime. But what if I did and I didn’t even know it? There is so much I don’t know.