Everyday I wake up, hoping against all hope that it was all a nightmare. That the suffering I have faced across my entire life has been nothing but a terrible dream. I couldn't possibly thrust this upon anyone else. To subject someone to this pain would be a terrible thing, making me all the more worthy of it myself.

Everyday I wake up, not feeling you there with me. Not being able to tell you how I feel, for fear that it would only drive you further from me. It's a terrible reality to live in—to want to sing a song, but have no voice to sing it with. I think about the ways that I wish I could use my voice to convince you to buy into us, but all I can do with it is expose myself for being the fake that I really am.

Everyday I see something out in the world, only to be reminded of you. To want to share this inconsequential thing with you. I want to hear your thoughts, to steal those thoughts for myself—to steal those little moments of your life so that they were all mine, and nobody elses. It's those little moments that are so real, and so grounded. It just reminds me of how terrible, and how selfish I am. 

The fact remains that I am but a freak—I feel on these small moments so that I can claim my superiority over others. I feel on these small moments so that I can tell myself that what I feel is realer than what anyone else feels. And then, when I see you so confidently share a moment with someone else, I am just reminded that everything to me—my actions and my feelings—are not real, because they are mine alone, and not ours.