Outskirts of Life

I feel very little right now. Empty, sort of. Unless I make myself feel. Like I do now.

I feel like I'm in between worlds and lifes and places and everything. Not "in between" like I'm moving from one to another, but as if I am in a world of my own that just barely touches other worlds. I don't know how I feel about that.

I am always surprised (and moved, and impressed) when people tell each other how much they love each other, how much they mean to them. They are placing themselves in other people's hands, putting their heads on the executioners block. I have a hard time with that, with giving people that, with giving myself that. And I recieve it with difficulty, too. Not because I don't appreciate it. Not because I don't want it. It is because I don't know how I am going to live up to that. How I am going to live up to that. That great responsibility. How can I not fail them?

So right now I don't know where I stand. In between worlds. In between lifes.
I really love this town, but at nights like these I feel like running, like hiding, like starting a new life somewhere else. Be someone else. Someone who hasn't made all my mistakes. Someone who won't repeat them. Somewhere where my darkness is unknown. I guess maybe that is what I am doing now, in a way. It's just... I don't know if I by doing that is repeating my old mistakes. If I once again is building something that isn't me.

There is a feeling, or maybe rather a fear, of being a paranthesis. Of that what she has now is more fitting, is more appropriate, is more her. And that makes me feel... I don't know. Very melancholic. It is most likely really unfair of me.

But yes. It is like grieving. It is grieving. But I guess I reap what I have sown.

Over and out for tonight. I wish you all the best.