I'm a realist
A hopeless romantic
I'm an indecisive piece of shit
A comic book geek
Tell me who I am when you get to know me
all stuff posted here within this blog are credited to their original creator, I have no rights to any of these unless clearly stated that it is done by me.
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…Doesn’t mind going out for the heck of it, or staying in for a movie marathon.
…I can go out and eat with, whether its unpredictable or just at home.
…Wants go to gigs or just sit with in a car with speakers blown.
…Isn’t afraid to dance the night away and be carried away by the moment
…I would think of anyone else to just talk to till the sun rises.
…that can make me smile for the simple reason that she’s the one smiling at me.
We are made to realize the truth about ourselves. But at what cost?
The truth is a bullet.
A bullet that cuts through you, stabbing and poking to jolt us to reality. We hurriedly feel for our wounds. And even in our disbelief of what we feel, we peer and look on. We see for ourselves that our wounds bleed. We peer onto our own flesh and blood as though distant from who we are. A sight the sears everything we know of ourselves until finally we look and see that it is us staring back at ourselves.
It is a bullet through glass. A hole so meager yet it makes all the difference. It pierces and cracks in its vestige. Each crack brings about another, and another, until it all falls apart. Every thought, every choice branching out to the ends of our frame. We map out then that every fault leads to greater fault. We are left seeing ourselves either broken or destroyed.
But what if it is the Truth. Could we just accept?
We realize that all along we’ve been broken since the start. We’ve been staring at a mirror so cracked and flawed we’ve grown accustomed of seeing it so perfect. That every lie and fantasy we conjure is but a flame to the glass, a means to mend and polish.
But we see more in the cracks. Every facet of our being. Every bit and piece that made us to who we are. And when we finally let go of what we see and let the pieces fall, we realize it is us looking at nothing. It is just me.
gif meme: amy pond + up close and personal (asked by amelia-pond)
I’ve always craved for attention; even I know that to be true. i don’t care for the spot light or the damn stage but a damn flashlight could help. There’s just this never ending feeling of wanting to be needed just because I feel so stupidly useless and unwanted. But then again this is what makes who I am. I’m the person that cares so damn much because he doesn’t want others to feel as he feels. Seriously, even i don’t hold myself to high regard. There’s nothing so special about me. I’m not funny, I’m rather annoying, I’m got a really bad temper, I have no goal or plan for my life and I don’t have much of a personality. The only ever thing I ever saw is that I’ve always cared pretty fucking too much. I don’t regret that one bit cause I’ve helped so many people/been there for so many because i am that way. I’m the person always waiting to be needed, never sought out for. That’s why I’m always just here ready to do any fucking thing because if not what the hell do I have left. I’ll be glad to be a blimp in the life of someone if it meant that for just some bit, in just some way I’ve made a difference just by being me. But then is it so bad to ask for someone to be there for me? Is it so much to ask to be the kind of person people remember or people need in their life… cause I hate it when the silence just drops and I can’t even think of anyone I could talk to without feeling like a bother. but then it passes and I go back to what I always do… wait and try to burn as bright when I ever have the chance… until the moment I fade and start feeling lost again.
Well I guess, mine just happens to be random bouts of kakupalan… I know I’ve said in the past that it’s by choice. There’s always that hesitation or sometimes that eagerness to do it. But really… what I’ve never realized is it’s just that I’m that afraid. Well who wouldn’t be afraid to be who you are when who you are wasn’t enough.