Hello, little reader. Where would you like to start. Want to talk about how you use fiction as a way to escape your own pathetic life? How you use other peoples tragedies to distract from how miserable you are? Is it because your parents weren’t present in your life like you’d like them to be? Did those characters save you in replacement for the parental figures you were lacking? Want to talk about how you constantly lie to yourself and others. Proclaiming you “prefer to be alone” when you long for companionship—how you deceive and never think of the consequences, is that your way of self sabotaging? Is it because you don’t believe in happy endings? Why is that? Is it because you never found a place or a person you could call home for the longest time, so even when you’re presented with love and affection on a silver platter you still can’t touch the kindness handed out to you. Truly, you’re rather pathetic. Undeniably unremarkable, yet you long to be important in other’s lives. Your inability to accept love stems from the fact that you are so insecure in yourself, it seems impossible that someone could love you, and even more so for those you yourself feel immense care towards. For someone to love you: it is not in your control. Denying peoples capability to love you denies their very existence in relation to you. I hope that one day, through the assurance and constant acts of selfless care you give to those you cherish, that you find yourself worthy of being loved. That one day you can look at a group of people, smile without an ounce of deception or ingenuity, and accept the endless companionship that comes with accepting others feelings of love towards you to be honest and true. I hope that you will no longer be lonely.
