| Written by Diana, on 20-11-2001 02:48 |
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why would someone think so much about me...to write about me...to have me on their mind for so long that they get a whole twelve lines...i don't deserve that. i don't know how such a great person could put up with me. I just don't see why he stays with me, instead of running off. sometimes i scoff at how kind he is. add him to the list. i feel like i'm doing this to prove a point. That they don't know me like they think they do. If they did know would I give it up? I'd have to give up hope of ever being perfect. A side effect of needing help. i don't want this. I want someone to shake me and clear my head. i know someday i could end up dead. if not then what's the point in this? i have no friends to miss. they've all gone away and left me for not, it's an understanding that i've always sought. It's true i let no one touch me, not a wisp of the hair, not a whispered embrace here and there. a *hug* and I shake it off. the thought makes me cringe with fear. I don't want anyone near. I'm afraid that they'll know by the softest touch, i worry what they'd do if they knew as much. They don't know what's really me, inside this bag of bones. What will they say when they realize how small i've grown? They think it's just a phase, this thing will pass, but only i know that time won't last.
Last update: 20-11-2001 02:48
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