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Blue.

Blue. I can't be anything. It requires acceptance. To be. To exist.

I can't write genuinely. I want to be something, but I am not that something. It weighs on me a lot. I understand that you must start somewhere.

I can't be anything completely. It requires admitting to being something. To be part of something. To openly be something. I haven't been used to that. It requires courage, demands respect I haven't received.

I can't write like I talk. I can only talk like I write. Tact is knowing when to be silent. I talk a lot. I am silent a lot. But maybe I mix up when I am supposed to be one, and admit to being another.

It's all wrong; it's never right. I can't fully sink into something. It's always about "I" on my blog, which makes sense because it's "my blog," but even then, talking as if I knew something. I can't even do that with myself.

I don't wish to be someone else. I just want to write as I see. I lose it sometimes. Nowadays, it flickers like a light, but the gaps between the spark and the dark are so long you could call it damaged.

Even my notes app is in a drought, not even a spark of stupidity to salvage into something meaningful. This forces me to be something in the eyes of someone. To express, to show that.

I think, while I may not do it intentionally, I might be censoring myself in little ways. I suppose all people do. More than censoring, I feel like we dumb ourselves down to make who we are digestible. Tear ourselves into little pieces so it can settle better in someone's stomach. But I don't want to be digested by their ideas; I don't want to be accepted.

I want to, but I don't. I would love to be loved a little, as all humans do. But I don't want that kind of love that comes from this warped version of myself I don't even understand. I don't understand who I am, yet I have to present as if I do.

I don't think we fully ever will, but to get a little closer is to understand we will learn forever, and things change. There's not one thing untouched by change.

To write in a way you understand and not one where I understand it fully. But I want to show you what I know. And what I don't.

I dig the soil and press the seed in. I have been watering it, but it tells me to wait, and I don't think I have it in me to do so anymore. I have waited for so long with the seed clenched in my palm. Hesitating for years, but I placed it there.

It doesn't magically sprout. I see all the trees grow. Maybe I will see the sapling, but you will taste the fruits.

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