This is all a lie. The hope that is proves false. We cannot escape our wounds. Rejection from the barely known sparks pain beyond their potential. My hopes for myself die.
I am a falsehood. We are, everyone of us, worthless. I still long to dream something special, something that makes me again feel worthwhile, unique, amazing as I once did. Something that makes me feel chosen beyond hormone and availability. In this night I am a face among the masses. I am the nameless. I am the hurt we will all feel, the rejection that cannot be ignored. I am the blood that must be bled, because the only other option is death. I am despair.
Alone I return home. Minor offenses burning with the sting of greater betrayal. I cannot escape the fact that even in the greatest happiness, I still know life is hollow, worthless, and insignificant. As is every part of us.
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