curiosity killed me 

On countless occasions, I’ve been asked what was wrong with me. I’ve been asked why I was the way I was. I was the weird one, the asocial one. Always the one nobody would talk to unless they had to. I’ve always lived in my own world, the safe space within my mind. Growing up, I would convince myself I was special, that I was unique and different and talented and all the other things that would make me feel better about myself. Sometimes doing that helped, I’d manage to convince myself that one day I was going to grow up and shock them all. They would be shocked because all this time under their noses and they never knew what an amazing person they could’ve known. They could’ve had conversations that made laugh, conversations that made them feel things they never felt before. But they didn’t. All because they didn’t bother to look past the awkward, stumbling facade on the outside. All because they never once thought of how a stranger could turn into a best friend. People never realized just how much observing could help them. I observed people an every amount, going through their social media just to find out more about them. Not out of some sick desire, but out of genuine curiosity. I never meant to hurt or scare people by looking at their accounts. I couldn’t help myself, people put their entire lives on social media, they were asking for the world to notice them. I would just observe them, because I could never really speak to them. I could never speak to anyone. 

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