I feel like I am living in a parody of the real-life of my younger self’s imagination. Just envision a dark fairy swinging her crooked little wand to grant me all those things I wished for; The twist however is that everything is just a little off. 

Flaunting words in language that’s not mine, accepting the life that feels almost imposed. This version of me would be utterly unrecognizable to the people who knew me back then. Reading a multifaceted, complicated piece of literature, dressing like an aesthetic-obscure-artsy-hipster, quoting french philosophers and drinking fancy iced tea–something is missing though. I can’t seem to put my finger on it. 

There are elements of this personality that I don’t feel are earned, and there are others which I can’t seem to stop gasconading over. I can already imagine another, ostentatious version of myself in the future and I want to be it. The younger me wanted to be all those things and more–but while being invisible. She wanted to be this person, and someone who never starved for attention or credit—living the life for herself and absolutely no one else in this entire world. She never stopped caring; she just stopped caring about her portrayal. 

Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. (…) You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you’ll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.
Looking for Alaska by John Green.

What’s your labyrinth? I used to ask people when I was fourteen; I wanted to know because I could never figure out what was mine. For the longest time, I thought it was the delusions that I create. There is a clearer image now; it’s the constant need to live for others. That’s why I feel like I am almost where I want to be, but there is a slight deviation. I honestly feel like I am living in a parody of the real-life of my younger self’s imagination.

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