I'm back here again.

To type the words that can't come out of my mouth. The things I can't say, but come out so clearly in print. Beauty is worth a thousand words. And beautiful words are the closest thing we have to perfection. I fight for my life, finding myself. I feel alone in a room full of my best friends, squirm in church, shaking the preacher's hand as he attempts to inspect my arms for tracks. I'm the fucked up suburban kid who has more hope than I really deserve. I'm a winter, a virgo, a lover, and a smoker.

I'm living inside a fairy world, I hope that's okay with you?
I write because it's the only way I know how to express emotion. I stopped crying years ago, the human touch feels foreign to me. I'm not depressed, I'm numb. And it's the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. Narcissistic, paranoid, manic, fuck you therapy. Let the words pour from my heart and into the soul. I'll dream, and write, and drink, and live. And if I can't live, I can pretend.

My story is much too long, and much too personal to tell. Let your mind imagine me as the girl you wish I was. I can't please anyone by being myself, so I'll let them create me.

I'm in love with the night, with the cold, with the music. I'm enamored by a boy who lives a hundred miles away. I'm only as much of a person as you'll let me be. Let me be.