Shredded
2013-04-12

Lately I wonder how well people feel like they know me. I could never quite place how I feel I appear to others until a few moments ago. I think I am quite transparent- it's clear when I'm angry or upset or whatever emotion is occurring. But upon looking inside, all that can be seen is smoke whirling bits of paper around with universally unrecognizable script scribbled on it. Sure, they can be seen, but what the fuck would anyone know about it? I do this on purpose, I know. Somewhere deep down there's some part of me etching away at these little notes and then scattering them in the wind. You can look all you want, but it's hopeless to try to get inside.

So that's me then. A paper tornado in a glass house.

 

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