From something written in the past
I found this in my room, written on a sheet of yellow lined paper in slim red pen:
I can't tell, honestly, if the way I feel is too big
or if your scope of What We Can Feel is too small and meaningless...
Am I condemned to a life of people reading my overly dramatic thoughts and mocking me for them, not understanding that I mean all that I say from the bottom of my heart, but that I say it aloud to everyone with the easiness and thoughtlessness with which I would throw a towel over a drying rack? You should take me seriously, but also not seriously at all. That is how I see myself, at least.
I can't tell, honestly, if the way I feel is too big
or if your scope of What We Can Feel is too small and meaningless...
Am I condemned to a life of people reading my overly dramatic thoughts and mocking me for them, not understanding that I mean all that I say from the bottom of my heart, but that I say it aloud to everyone with the easiness and thoughtlessness with which I would throw a towel over a drying rack? You should take me seriously, but also not seriously at all. That is how I see myself, at least.