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Why can’t we just be
We have to be something
You are alive. You are being.
We are be.
Be. Be you. Be yourself.
Don’t be someone else. You are beautiful. Don’t be that other unbeautiful someone. Be your own be beautiful self.
Just be.

I don’t know how it happens, or what ‘it’ even is, but when it happens, you know. It’s less than love, more than friendship; just a strong connection. Everything they do, you either hate it or love it. No in between.
You feel completely at ease, yet you feel terrified and wonderful at the same time. No one will understand, not even that person, so you keep it to yourself. You think about it all the time. You wish you could scream out how you feel, but you don’t really know how you feel.
You know when they’re not around. There’s a type of emptiness about everything you do, because they’re not there to fill the gap. Then, before you know it, they’re back, and you feel complete again.
No one knows how you feel. You know if you told someone, they’d never see you the same way again.
They’d ask you how it feels, and you would say “Undescribable.”

Death is one of the hardest subjects to talk about, especially at a young age. It’s hard.