I am hidden inside my skin. The one that you see laugh and goof is not real me. There are scars upon me, you’ll see only if you determine to see beyond my smooth skin. And the ones those you can’t, either they are far deeper than your reach or you are too ignorant to spot them. This life, you know, isn’t perfect for anyone. There is not one soul on this effing planet that isn’t broken. The only difference is the ones who are severely damaged are so good at hiding, you won’t even notice.
I’m in desperate need of someone who can insert their fingers deep inside me, plug into me like I have sockets all over my body, and feed me with a perpetual supply of their being. Their presence is all I need, but they’re the ones that I’m most afraid of. I have managed somehow to gather these shards and learned to balance. I’m afraid if anyone gets access to my vulnerabilities, they might break me into further million pieces, or worse, they become a part of it.
We’re flawed humans. We try our best to do justice to this one life that we got out of nowhere, but all we do is tumble from here and there on this planet, stumble on this or that fellow human in search of just a little happiness. And when we get some, it’s always ephemeral, because what makes us happy today is never enough tomorrow. It is like some fuel – to stay happy, we need a constant supply of it otherwise we suffer.
I need to break this chain. Happy or not, I need to make this existence an experience not some silly pursuit. So, I have no intensions to fix these flaws, to mend what’s damaged. All these pieces, good, bad or ugly that I carry within me, are all me. This is who I am. There are scars upon me, you’ll see only if you determine to see, and the ones those you can’t, well, you are just too ignorant.
– Image found on Google. Ask for credits please.