When that side of me is asleep, what about the me I show to other people? My smile has been plastered very carefully on my face. Constantly getting repainted depending on the person, just like normal paint- water.. usually wears it out. But this paint I have, I made sure it was water proof. I greet everyone with my same excited response, I always look for something to stare at other than their faces. Their faces rip me apart, they dig on my skin, touching every vulnerable place that's there. Making all my wounds stay fresh. I never look at their faces, because I know that I could never have a singular face like theirs. The only time I'm happy is when I'm asleep. Until i realize that I woke up, then I'm sad again. I try to look happy. For other people. I don't care about other people, I care about their smiles. Their smiles make me feel like the act I display was natural and good enough. This side of me is always perfect, for other people. Shaped by their ideal person. I sometimes merge both sides of me, to make me more real. To make me more believable, would you believe me? Would you believe me if I said I was happy? Without reading this? You would. Because I played this part multiple times. Just in different costumes. I'm probably ranting, you probably lost the main point of this. I miss the main point in every of my stories, perhaps it's some sort of nice word play. Losing myself in the stories I make about myself. My day isn't over yet, I go to the mirror. I don't know who's in the mirror, all I see is a stranger. A stranger wearing my face. I change my face to the stranger's. The stranger changes their face to mine. When it's complete, I write. I write about him. I can't say me. Because he is not me anymore.
OOC NOTE: This is a missing page of a book you found..
