I am turning 21 tomorrow i.e. 06/09/2025. I should be happy, waiting for the wishes and everything, yet here I am sharing my feelings to the strange internet. I don't know how it helps but it does, much better than explaining to a bunch of people, who speak a different language and talk a different story. I find comfort in writing but sharing has to be a part of it, to anyone, to someone. But most of the people I know don't really get what I write I used to feel pride, that I might just be too intelligent but now I feel misunderstood, it scares me if anyone will ever actually see the real me. That is why I write, it is my coping mechanism for the loneliness submerged in me. It's a mature way of dealing with things they say, but what if I am done being mature and want someone to finally understand not the words I say, rather, me in the darkest of times. I romanticise life way too much, I heard but what if that's me coping with the reality that, the life I want is never coming true. I never felt comfortable with speaking my feelings, maybe that's why I write, because my writings hear me, they talk to me. They know me. They don't push me to be someone I am not. I write to be me; I write to be free. No words say you are not enough; they accept me who I am, comfort me when I need someone. They are my home- a part of me fully dissolved within me. I'd rather wish to die than not have my words, my writings and my romanticised life with me.

P.S. Its way past my birthday, but I am still going to share this. Because I know someone, somewhere feeling this way needs to feel okay. Also, the birthday went well, I did somethings for me, and it was happy birthday.