People say I'm naive in real life... I admit to that. I also admit that I don't do well without intructions or a routine. I am a geek, a bookworm, a gamer, advisor, watcher, listener, a guest. I admit that I am lazy, having sporatic bounts of inspiration, philosophy and nonscence. This doesn't mean that I am hopeless. This just means that I need extra effort effort to succed. Effort that skips across avaiable an unobtainable. I admit to being things that I am not, pretending for something that is not there, dreaming of things otherwise considered useless, knowing too much for my own good or too little. But who cares about this stuff. Who would care about someone else when you have yourself to worry about, your parents to please, siblings to annoy or fend off. Sometimes I wonder if the person I am is really me. The me that I grew up to be, or the me that I made to reaplace someone thtat could not stand underneath the pressure of society. Society that dictates action and speech, eventually dictating itself. The tides ebb and flow, the moons anually changes phases, the sun that countinuously rises and sets, the wind that shifts suddenly.
A reflection in the water, a glimse in the mirror, a whisper in the air.
Who is me...........nobody.
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Me
Somebody, Nobody, Something, Nothing.
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naessergon
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