notes to a stranger

Secrets were everywhere. She liked to hide in the open air. Private thoughts placed on placid strangers. They slept or turned away, and, oop, into their pocket her embarrassment went. Oh the release. Oh the freedom. To open the cage, to just get that obsession or judgment or sadness or rage or hopelessness outside of her body.

I don't believe I'll ever fall in love.
No matter how much I do, the fact that I'm not thin makes me feel like a failure.
I'm so disappointed that my parents are human.
Why do I need validation from someone else to feel complete?

Each one made the day a little bit stronger or brighter and wove her self into the city.

If you have not read PostSecret, you really should check it out. Getting things outside of my body is essential to keeping myself as sane as possible.