The pain of bringing thoughts to the surface... the pain of discovering oneself... and exposing the feelings to the world. Shelter seems better... safer.
Too much time to think. Too much time to ponder. I begin to wonder where I'm really headed. Who am I? Where are my goals? My hidden dreams are in danger of being blown to the wind. Do I scramble to preserve their presence, or let them go? I know my words contradict what I feel. I know I've been misread and misinterpreted. Why then does outside influence still hurt? For I should know what's inside me and I should know if they are wrong or right. But what kind of impression have I given to lead them to those conclusions about me? And does it really matter? Why should someone else's opinion affect me at all? It's a silly notion and one that should mean nothing. Do I not have enough confidence in myself to rebel and know that I know what's inside better than anybody else, no matter their degrees or status? My purpose eludes me.
Sorry, Reese. You don't know what's really going through my head.
