Lost

I realized that my life is a secret. Only because no one wants to really understand me. I talk too much. I listen too much. I care too much. I dislike too much. So in the end of you trying to understand me you get lost in my words. You get lost in my meaning. You get lost in what I’m trying to convey. So who do I have left, no one. That is why I have my own accomplishments, my own deaths, my own achievements, my own fails, my own trials and tribulations but most importantly my own joys. And I’m not trying to make it seem like a “sappy,” “no one cares about me” story. But really, when is the last time you’ve seen me happy. Yesterday, maybe? Well, when is the last time you’ve known, really known, understood, that I was happy. You don’t, and its not your fault. It’s mine. I hate to fail. I hate to know about myself. I hate to realize my potential because I can be powerful and I am. I hate to realize my detriments because it just hurts and I can't deal with the pain. So in the end I'm dying to live even though living can feel like I'm dying. So I'm just in a cycle of psychological misunderstanding or maybe I think too much and I drown in my thoughts. Either way, I have no one. Who do you have? Enjoy them while you can.

One.