Mumblings

 I do not remember the last time I cried for myself. I have always thought of self-pity as the lowest form of empathy. Differentiating what you feel from what you should have felt. Probably because it isn’t empathy at all, especially if it is yourself that you are trying to understand. But there are moments when you look at everything as it unfolds before you, as if you never were there. That this body is just a carcass of the emptiness that is me. As if looking at the mirror is the same as looking out a window.

I do not remember the last time I cried for myself. Because I have always thought that tears are should be reserved for the most special things, or the most devastating ones. They should be reserved for a really good book or a painfully beautiful movie. It should not be reserved for me. The rough that devours the diamond until it is forgotten. The scarecrow in the fields.

But last night, I felt the need to cry, for completely no reason. I didn’t though, so that was amazing. I just stared at my feet as if it got somewhere. Went somewhere knowing that if I look at where I am, it is right where I fucking started.

I always hated the word “deserve” because if that was our currency I would be as poor as my handwriting. You see, I’ve always thought of myself as someone who will never find you. The bearer of sunshine, the holy maiden of hope. Which is why when I look at you, I seem to always want to cry. But I don’t, which is amazing. But I do not deserve you. But I do not deserve you. But I do not deserve you. But I do not deserve you. But I do not deserve you. But I do not deserve you. But I do not dese