Are we all lost boys? Does everyone else sit here and cry out “why?” Why did I have to grow up? Why could I not stay a boy, and spend my life dreaming of adventure and pirates? My heart is too weak and naive for the world and the life I have.
Heartbreak doesn’t make us better. I convinced myself it did, that the scars I carried made me more beautiful, that my pain would temper me like heated steel. But my agony has only ever led to compromise, to a desperate struggle to feel anything else. And all paths lead back to despair. Sometimes I’m forced here, and other times, a prison of my own creation.
Everyone gives you advice, tells you how to live, how to be, how to fix it. All those people who don’t understand. Who have not only not lived your pain, and are not you. How arrogant to think your solution mine. I feel insignificant in your eyes as you try to fix me. You make me feel so much more broken.
No one can truly know another. We hold things back from the world. We hide our darkest and saddest thoughts. We have shames we never let see the light of day. How can we not feel lonely? Show my darkness, you say? You can handle it, you say? That vanity again. I can’t handle it, and it lives in me.
When I love, I am wounded. And when I don’t, I wound others. Yes, the world is beautiful. But it is so vicious and vile. It will tear you up, blind you, and leave you for dead. It’ll teach you to be like it. But I’m too tired to be vicious anymore.
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