Every scar has a story, especially the ones that keep finding new friends.

It feels like I am leaving my body behind for something much, much smaller. I’m not a shell waiting to be cracked, but nevertheless.

I have to bust open.

I have to break out.

Well, more like break down.

Tear down.

Rip down.

I have to rip it down, every last trace of the creature I am. I’m living in a bubble, as if I wasn’t part of this world. This thing I am, it can’t be considered living. The changes people experience everyday, I just observe. I watch them all from a window seat, never even contemplating opening that window. I skim the surface, avoiding anything beyond a drop in the bucket. Yes, that’s right.

I wanted to pretend.

I wanted to act just like them.

I wanted…

~I want to have something real to want.

My only desire is to have what they all have, whatever that is. I want to laugh at the same jokes, cry at the same movies and shows, run through the rain and feel like I am getting something more than just drenched.

Is that so wrong? Is there anything wrong with that, having the desire for human desires? Isn’t that how all things start out? Humans are products of their environments; they see and copy and learn. So what I’m doing isn’t any different, right?

I’m the same, right?

I must be the same…

~I need proof.

I have to find proof.

I want to find that proof.

I want to have something, to see something that could show me, something that proved I was human, just like them. What do they have that I don’t? Eyes and ears and mouths, all so varied, so how can that be what I define as human? Nobody has the same eyes as me, or the same hair or face. Nobody is just like me in terms of what the surface shows, so how can I prove that I’m the same?

How?

How…

~I have to dig deeper.

I have to find something inside of me.

I have to peel back the layers.

I have to cut me down.

I have to cut until I reach that core.

I have to cut until I find that proof, that proof that I’m a human, just like everyone else. I have to cut until I can more than just see, but feel that proof. I need to drown in that undeniable sensation of having nothing between me and the world. I need that proof carved into me, so I can prove I’m as alive as anybody else has ever been.

I need more.

I need to dig deeper.

I need to cut deeper.

I need to cut…

I need to keep cutting…

I have to keep cutting, because it must be close, it has to be close! It has be there, right below the surface! The next one will do it, I just know it! Just one more! One more!

And one more!

And one..one more..

Just…a little more…

One…please…

~I see that I am breaking, and I found a desire in that chaos, and I see…I can see it, the way…my way…the only way I can reach that desire…my proof…so I have to keep going.

I can’t stop now.

It has to come soon, right?

It will come soon.

I know it.

~So I just need more.

More breaking.

More digging.

More cutting.

Just a little more cutting and I’ll find it…I know it…

So just…

One…

More…

 

One thought on “Every scar has a story, especially the ones that keep finding new friends.

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