{ fragile as we are }

since I was little, I never really had much friends. it’s not that I didn’t try, or that I purposely excluded myself from everyone else - whenever I talked, people either laughed (and not in a kind way), or ignored me. so I mostly stayed by myself, always thinking that there was something extraordinarily wrong with me. I ended up spending most of my childhood being silent during lessons, and spending breaks in school in the library, reading whatever piqued my interest - and endeavoring not to cry, pretending I didn’t care I didn’t had friends, or even a friend.

I’ve always thought that maybe when I grew up, my awkwardness would peel away and I would become humorous, beautiful and intelligent. but it just didn’t work out. what I found funny, others didn’t find funny. what I found beautiful, others didn’t find beautiful. and no-one was interested in intelligence - as cliche as this sounds, all the girls were absorbed in make-up, boys and fashion. and all the boys were absorbed in video games, porn and ogling at the prettiest girls or the ones with the biggest boobs in school.

so I remained alone for the longest time.

and I am starting to suspect that my awkwardness is not something that I can ever shake away. that it is not a veil that is disguising the humorous, beautiful and intelligent person that is inside; that underneath the awkwardness, there is just more awkwardness and nothing else. it would explain why I could be in the center of a crowded room, and still feel invisible. it would explain why I could even be alone with one person, and still feel invisible.