You know, after a bad night, when we wake up the next day, we have this apathetic, indifferent expression plastered on our faces. As if whatever happened did not matter, but in truth it did. It's actually eating you up. But we love to wear disguises.

We push people away. We like to be alone. We don't want anyone uncovering our weaknesses, or for anyone to know who we are, because there was a time someone did, and that person didn't like it. That person hurt you. And from there, you don't want that to happen again. We torture ourselves with our loneliness. We keep these feelings to ourselves, because we don't like anyone touching them; because we might hurt more. But we're really just running away from getting healed. We think we're too good for anyone to bother us -- or should I say -- to take care of us. We love self-pity. We feel special. We think we're cut above the rest, because we think no one understands.

And so we carry on with this masquerade. This mask, the poker face, is but a lie we've engineered. And when we keep on pretending, we become the mask itself. We become these faceless people, no longer recognizing anything, anyone else, not even ourselves.




I'm that sort of selfish. I think I'm like that. I was a heathen in disguise. I thought I knew everything, I thought I could do things alone, with my way. But I'm just really vulnerable, putting an armor too big for me to wear. I think I'm special, too special that it's disgusting.

I don't want to be that person anymore. 

I know I need to rely on you. I know I'm not alone.