I have a disorder. A disease really. I think it's called me.
I'm quirky and quiet. But who would have guessed?
"Choose my three words"
Energetic, thebestpersonever, nice.
I don't always like people. But I don't think like is quiet understood how people think it means.
I am afraid. Scared of them really. All of them. And that my folks is quiet abnormal.
But not wrong. Nothing is wrong with how I am. I am me and people can take that. Or they don't have to, as many have chosen.
I just want silence sometimes because I like to think inside my head more than aloud with others.
Today is January. But it is not January.
Sometimes the past isn't the past at all, but it was all an alternate world that won't ever come back. If you cease to think about it, it would cease to exist, because that's all you have left of any of it: memories.
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