Maybe I like to see the world in a way where I am not marrow in its teeth, or clogged in this world throat where all my whimpers are simply groans. Maybe sometimes I just need to cry because looking on the news or seeing the death count of the new generation breaks something inside of me.
Maybe this world scares me, with the ignorance and plain malice that courses through the blood steam of humanity. Maybe my love is just the example of abstract or my heart is just a picture of an organ on some kids text book. Maybe I’m just another statistic. Maybe we’re just on a floating rock.
But who asked for your fucking opinion? I am not a machine operated by your insecurity. If I wish to see this world in bright colors, soak in loud music, and love shiny things, then why does that bother you? What does it matter if I like to believe?
Maybe I like taking a moment to just stop and breathe. Maybe that’s all I can do to not become numb to it all. Maybe I’m just too human for you.