I always yearned to find someone who could look into my soul.
Normally, I hid my soul behind a vacant mask... with an expression of mixed loneliness, sadness, and hope...
What I saw of the world... was superficial. Superficial people obsessed with material things, make-up, and designer clothes. I found out pretty quickly that the world doesn't really want me to be myself, didn't really care about my passions or convictions. So I built a wall around my soul... my passions... my beliefs... my conflicts. On the outside... I just made friends... and went to school.
I took to writing because it was the one place where I could pour my heart and soul out and I was amazed and flattered that there was anyone willing to read it. Because what I wrote wasn't 300 pages of fiction... it was 300 pages of me.
And... I've tried... and failed... to show that same story... that same snapshot of my passions and convictions... to any woman who I've ever been attracted to.
Does anyone relate?