This is an extremely selfish post.

Why is it that when I actually talk to you words escape me? Human interaction is an alien thing for a seventeen year-old college student who chose to live her life alone in an apartment. Let me tell you something about myself to somehow counteract the imbalance of me knowing so much about you and you not knowing a single thing about me.

I love to visit coffee shops, look lonesome but still comfortable with the steady companionship I have with myself. For me, coffee just brings out the blockage my mind creates. See? Words are flowing endlessly from my head right now. Maybe the emptied cup beside me and the aroma of coffee still wafting from my kitchen counter is the cure.

I would like to think that my relationship with words will continue until the end of me. The way I effortlessly think of them one after the other is just, relaxing. I have lived with them for so long and imagining my life without books, poems, or songs is a thought I never entertain because that wouldn’t be a life at all.

Books, wonderful things. They let you leave the world you are not sure you belong to and simply be. They make you feel giddy, and sad, and loved, and happy. You become another person entirely, temporarily exchanging your imperfections for another. It’s like an addictive drug I can never get enough of. It stimulates me. It makes me feel that there is more to me than just a geeky kid who loves books and good music.

As I have said, I am an only child. Others are deluded into thinking that being one is better than having siblings that incessantly annoy you to death but I think not. When you are an only child, you are destined to be alone for the most part of your life. Don’t get me wrong though, I love and adore my parents and they give me love, kindness, understanding… sometimes even more than I deserve, but I have acquainted myself with the sad truth that they are not always there to shield me away from all the pain and suffering the world has to offer.

It seems right to end this post by telling you how I appreciate you listening to the boring musings of my deeply troubled mind. For me, not sharing thoughts with anyone is the norm, but actually telling them to a real, live person is another thing. It was hard. Again, thank you for just being there to listen (or read) because as you might have noticed, I am awkward and completely not good at this. I know this might sound weird for I only talked to you for the past minutes but somehow, I feel like I have found that older brother (which as you know is completely impossible to give me since I am born already)I have been pestering my parents about. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. For what you might ask.

Well, for being you.