Thursday, 11:26PM.

If tomorrow brings new hope, I hope it brings you.

I have to admit I'm doing fine, but I have nights when I miss you so much; I can barely breathe when I literally crave for you.

Tonight's the start of these nights.

This is the realest feeling. I can feel the pain in every part of my chest. It insanely hurts. I can feel it in my veins and mostly in my heart. It feels like someone is stabbing every fraction of it continuously.

Never been so paranoid of myself. Your perspective of me. My perspective of you.

Do I look at you the same way you look at yourself? Do you look at me the same way I look at myself? When being put out into this vast world, does anything even make sense? Do I need to let you know how I really am, just to give myself the satisfaction? Or should I let the illusion of myself be something you will always think of when my name crosses your mind? When the air reminds you of me, is there any significance of convincing someone too caught up in the bubble?

I know you are not how I see you. Do you know that I am, too, not how you see me? This never ending thought; no matter how much time you get, no matter how enormous the space is, we still stick to that one perception. Rebuffing, no matter how many times the universe presents further options, letting us choose, letting us weigh the reasoning.

Sometimes I think that. And I think of you. And the things you are actually made of. I forgive. I try to forget. And maybe in the chaos of your life, you'll see me beyond the image you made of me too.