I definitely feel things more than other people do, but I also conceal them a lot better. I used to get in trouble when I was little for what my mother would call ‘bottling things up’, but now that I’m older I’m allowed to express myself in whatever way I see fit, and nothing has changed. There are a select few who’ve seen me actually open up, but mostly my friends get about 20% of what’s going on inside my head. 
I get my heart broken six hundred times a day, by new songs, by mums kissing their toddlers on the bus, by mean mums yelling at their gorgeous kids for normal things that kids do, by every creepy person who talks to me on the street because I can’t understand being the type of human being to actually go up and grab at a young woman’s tattoos, by text messages from people telling me they miss me, by every love story I come across, fictional or otherwise… I feel like I could write the great tragedy of this century just based on the little things that no-one else even notices; I feel like I could scream about it all until I had no words left - but that’s the thing - who would listen? Who would even take the time?

I definitely feel things more than other people do, but I also conceal them a lot better. I used to get in trouble when I was little for what my mother would call ‘bottling things up’, but now that I’m older I’m allowed to express myself in whatever way I see fit, and nothing has changed. There are a select few who’ve seen me actually open up, but mostly my friends get about 20% of what’s going on inside my head. 

I get my heart broken six hundred times a day, by new songs, by mums kissing their toddlers on the bus, by mean mums yelling at their gorgeous kids for normal things that kids do, by every creepy person who talks to me on the street because I can’t understand being the type of human being to actually go up and grab at a young woman’s tattoos, by text messages from people telling me they miss me, by every love story I come across, fictional or otherwise… I feel like I could write the great tragedy of this century just based on the little things that no-one else even notices; I feel like I could scream about it all until I had no words left - but that’s the thing - who would listen? Who would even take the time?