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Seriously, how much of this can I take? I remember the night before, sitting in front of the computer and analyzing other people's social lives on the internet. No, its not a bad thing anymore, that's why its public. Yet, its so glaring that it pinches in my chest. I try to remind myself that some of it is fake, like how some of me is fake. Everyone's fake, like that girl I know, who thrives on falsity, or that guy I know who constructs social interactions in his bedroom at night. Its a reason why I don't try too hard. But by keeping my distance, it feels like I am.

Distance is relative. I'm packed into a sardine of students, chattering boldly, absorbing information for future use. Its a social construct, a mechanism to be manipulated. But I rather not. I do it, as it is my duty, but not too much. I know who I am.

Yet, distance is something that eludes everyone. One day, I know I will be forgotten. That face people will remember as "that girl that was nice" or "that girl I spoke to once in the stairwell". That's me. But its by my volition, and no one gets that. No one does that. Much. Or if they do, I don't notice them at all.

Well, there you go.

Its better, I think, than being the cause for pain. For being yourself and making mistakes, and end up screwing up someone else's life. For trusting in someone, and getting hurt in the process. For giving your all, and later end up being used. Distance is relative. Distance eludes. Distance protects.

It has been so long since I've been myself, and I'm not sure how to be that thing. Not really. What I am, or who I am, is a thing that is private. Sometimes I think its a waste that it is, but when I remember why I do it - the faults I've made, the stupid things I've said, the things I've done whole-heartedly, and the people. Oh, those fucked up people.

Of course it makes me sad. Of course I'd rather have a ton of friends, who understand me, and can rely on me. Its a given. Everyone feels that way some of the time. That's the part that makes me insecure. That, what I think I should do, conflicts with what I want. Its a constant clash of interest within me. That I want to do so much more than me. Yet, I choose to be what I am now.

Is it strange that I want to be accepted for that? Its a little oxymoronic. And a dash bit whiney.

Oh well.