I've been feeling kinda down lately, and this is evidence of that. It's pretty real actually. I thought this up while listening to
Pretending by Glee and opening my locker. It's hard to open, and it was being particularly difficult at that moment in time, and when I opened it, I just felt this surge of emotion. Weird, huh?
Word Count: 411
Pretending I like to pretend. I pretend every day that I am somewhere else, someone else. It’s fun. When you’re young you always pretend. You can be the captain of a pirate ship, an astronaut blasting aliens in space, or a handsome knight slaying the fierce dragon. You can be anyone. You can do anything.
Nowadays I don’t think like that anymore. I don’t pretend like that. Little kids pretend, right?
Wrong. Adults ‘play pretend’ more often than you think. Some are good at it, and some are bad. I would consider myself bad at it. Horrible even. Perhaps I should have practiced more when I was younger.
I always say I’m fine. Always. If someone asks how I am or how my day was I will always respond with a simple fine. I’m pretty sure people believe me. After all, it’s not like I give them reason not to. Or maybe they just don’t let on that they know I’m lying.
I pretend I’m fine. Most of the time I’m not. I pretend to act a certain way in front of some people. Though there is one person I cannot pretend with. It is so difficult. I crumble to bits during every conversation and it makes me feel so vulnerable. I hate it. Not necessarily the feeling of being vulnerable, just…
I don’t want to finish that sentence.
I do, however, hate the feeling of talking to someone in particular, someone special to you, and you want to say a million things to them, even things you shouldn’t, but you can’t, and it absolutely kills you on the inside. I have that almost every day. It’s depressing.
It reminds me of a sentimental song I like. I’m not going to take any of the lyrics though, as a very important person once said that it was a cheap cop out to use someone else’s words in your own writing to say what you want to say. Since then that rule was only broken once, but it was for nothing important.
I hate pretending. It hurts. It isn’t real. When you pretend, it might make you feel good for a while, but when the dream dissipates and reality comes crashing down on you those good feelings are ripped away from you, only to be replaced by sadness and a feeling of loss.
Despite knowing this, I still pretend. Why? Because it keeps me from saying the things I want to say.
Subject: Pretending 
