As the early morning light filters through my window, I find no happiness in the reprieve from the darkness. Instead I shrink away from it, like a vampire sequestered in the black abyss. Because come morning, in the stillness and tranquility of dawn, I am forced to think. And what a dangerous thing it is to think.
The silence of the morning strikes a chord within me, bringing to my attention the fact that not only am I alone but also that I am incredibly lonely. It is truly ironic, that, being lonely when I am flanked on all sides by a gaggle of girls, each drowning (though they do not know this) in their own insipid little worlds, worrying about clothes and makeup and what the boys will think. And yet, I envy them. They are not pining away in their bedroom, crying for a song that they used to listen frequently in their sister’s bedroom. They are not suppressing their true selves. They are not the ones who are virtual hermits. No, they’re not.
My friends are probably wondering if I am happy and if UK is everything it is cracked up to be.
What do you think?
I think the Pussycat Dolls were right on the money when they sang "be careful of what you wish for cause you just might get it."