There are some things that are never told, some things that no one wants to share. Things that run through our heads at what seems like a zillion mils per hour. Things that don’t make much sense, and even things that-if people found out about-would make you the town fucking freak. There are stories that are never told, instances where true love shines through, where death is the happy ending, millions upon millions of possible circumstances that are never recorded, that no one remembers.

Are you an untold story?

Here’s my untold story of the day-

I’m jealous of a fictional character. A little boy who was molested, and I’m jealous? I don’t even know what kind of person I am, I’m jealous because the way they portrayed his thoughts after. He felt a love like no other, and I’m jealous because I feel like I know I’ll never get to love that way, or really any way.

I’ve thought about killing myself a lot lately, I know I can’t do it though. I couldn’t put anyone through the loss. Other times I feel like I don’t deserve the satisfaction of death, like I deserve every single shot of pain I get, and every scrap of hatred I own should be put towards myself.

I want to become beautiful, I want boys and girls to want me. I don’t want to have boys or girls, I just want their want.