Some nights, I feel lost in a sea of love letters. They're addressed to all of my closest friends, but none of them are mine. I'm just the messenger. The waypoint. I give the people what they want and they thank me with hugs and "I love you"s; none of them feel as real as I need them to when I need them to.

I'm not the type to get angry, but if I were, I'd be infuriated by the feeling. As it stands, I'm not motivated enough to hold grudges. I don't cry as often as I need to, I'm too harsh on myself, and I still treat my scars as if they are something of which to be ashamed. There's no real point to this blog post. But writing it made me feel better.

In short, nothing, no matter how inane, is for nothing. I love you, person reading this. I hope you're having an amazing day or night :-)