Hero.

One of the many things I don't have.

Now, I'm going to vent.

My heart's been writhing next to my body for the past year. Close to me, tangible, but it doesn't fill the hole it made simply by it being next to me.
My heart's been acting like a fish out of water. Unprepared for these new environments, taken out of my comfortable ocean filled with unrequited love, which my gills have grown so used to that it's all I've ever known. Without the misery my heart inflicts upon itself, I wouldn't know how to feel. Because that's all I've ever known: misery, emptiness and I can honestly say I wallow in it, like a pig in it's filth.

I was talking to a new found friend of mine today, and I can tell he's pretty special.
We were discussing symbolism behind ordinary nouns. The descriptions of what he viewed the nouns as is what he based his characters off of in his story.
I gave him the noun "vase". The response he gave me was:
I picture a girl with insecurities. She's fragile, a rarity, and she has so much history behind her, behind her cracks.

He just described me.
I think he knows me better than he knows.

As I sit here.

I feel uncomfortable.

There are pantry items laying around the counter,
the mail is stacked 3 miles high,
there are stains in the rugs,
and I can honestly see how much work I do around here.

I still sink into the couch as usual, with my legs crossed, and my feet tingling.
I still have to pick up my mother's mess...as always.

I guess some things never change.