The kind of people that don't speak much when they're in a big group.
The expressive kind.
The kind that make you say to yourself: what's up with him/her?
The troubled kind.
I guess they have the best stories to tell. I guess it is those stories that make them go quiet. Like they've seen enough from this world to want more. They just wait for the end of it.
You can see it in thier eyes, they suffer and they hide it. But they don't do it very well. Because there's something in the way. It's their own soul, that wants to breathe out through them. Like if they don't let it out from time to time they risk to implode.
I admire them, I want to stay close to them and I want to become one of them.
But I don't.
Because there's something in the way.
It's my fear.
It's the fear.
I feel like if I become one of them, I wouldn't be able to go back. And I've never been too good at controlling my emotions, unless I make a big effort. Bigger than most people, but I still do it and it counts because if I were to say "fuck off" or "I love you" every single time I felt I should my world would have desintegrated. I'd be ashamed of myself for being so honest.
I know I'd be self distructive if I were to let out that side of me that knows how to write, that knows how to sing, that knows how to express pain and happiness and loathe and sickness of this entire collection of blind heartless people our society has created. I know I wouldn't be able to take it.
I may seem like I'm making a big deal out of it, but I'd rather be ridiculously right than deadly wrong. It's the fear again, and she's my best friend.
I don't even have to wonder why things are like this, because it's simple. I'm not the only coward. There's lots of them. And they all come together as big groups of cowards that do the same cowardly things: go to the same highschool, do the same jobs and hang out in the same bars.
I'm a fucking coward and I love it.
However, I still have this attraction to the dark, to the artistic, to the insane. And it's morbid and it will probably consume me if it gets me.
I guess it will not, thanks to my dear cowards.
And thanks to the shiny, happy and kind cowards that are attracted to me. They are dear to me, but they bore me to... was about to say death, but I'm not dead yet.
So, in order to close this outburst of sincerity that is making me write exactly what I think, I just want to glorify my cowardness by saying: even if I make it, even if I let all the talent in me touch the world, I'm sure I'd still be mediocre to myself and most people.
Here's to the safety of mediocrity! I love it!
