Terra Prime-1, 2023
Conflicted.
Ugh, how exhausting it is to exist like this.
Every day, I dream of a life where I could be free—
Where I could laugh without pretending,
Where my reflection doesn't feel like a stranger trapped in my skin.
In this world, I'm just... me.
Ordinary.
Too tall.
Too soft.
Too invisible.
Nothing special.
Nothing memorable.
I walk hallways where no one remembers my name, sit in classrooms where my voice feels like static. I wave at people who smile back, but never really see me. Sometimes I wonder if I'm already a ghost—just... haunting a life I never asked for.
But somewhere, in another universe, I believe...
Maybe I am someone else.
Someone stronger.
Someone beautiful in ways this world could never understand.
There are two names etched deep within me—Hasaki and Aizhat.
Is it love?
I don't know anymore.
Maybe it's just longing.
Maybe it's the wish to be seen, to be chosen.
I pretend to love them because pretending feels easier than admitting the truth:
That I don't really belong anywhere.
This world feels hollow sometimes.
Like I'm stuck in a loop where everyone smiles, but no one feels.
Friends? I have them.
Or maybe they just have me—like accessories pulled out when their real best friends are missing. I'm the backup plan. The spare soul.
I used to cry over it.
Feel broken by it.
But now?
Now I just smile and nod, because that's what's expected.
Thank God I learned how to numb my own heart.
Inside my mind, I built another world—a place where I could laugh, cry, and be loved by the characters I created.
A place where I could finally be free.
I know it sounds delusional.
But sometimes, I laugh and cry over those dreams, all alone like some madwoman.
But I don't care anymore.
No one would understand anyway.
Who am I?
It depends on the day.
I wear many names, many faces.
But the one that has stayed with me—the one that has carried me when nothing else could—is Luna.
Luna, the girl who survived by weaving stories.
By selling dreams she could never live.
I once dreamed of writing worlds like Love Deadly Gun or How Long Is It?
But those dreams vanished, just like everything else I ever cared about.
However, I've decided to write a new world—about myself.
You know, sometimes I feel bored at home. But when I'm at school, I can't wait to escape, to be anywhere but here.
It's like being trapped in a room with no windows, the walls closing in on me. And no matter how hard I scratch or scream... I can't break free.
Strange, isn't it?
Sometimes I create characters in my mind—fragments of lives built from the echo of a catchy song.
Like hallucinations made of sound.
They have stories, voices, and faces.
They feel more alive than I do.
They seem free.
While I… I am stuck in the confines of my own mind.
But what's the point?
What's the point in building worlds if I can't even feel a part of them?
What's the point of creating characters when I can't even create happiness for myself?
I can't even give them the one thing I want—freedom.
They are nothing but shells.
Nothing but lies, because they exist only in the spaces where I refuse to feel.
And the truth?
They can never be real.
Because I can't be real with myself.
It's not REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
REAL.
WAIT.
Who cares?
Who gives a fuck?
Nobody.
No one comes to save the quiet girl.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I used to write about happy endings—about love, hope, joy—
But now?
Now I realize something.
The happy endings I wrote... they were never meant for me.
Not for someone like me.
If I can't even feel the happiness I try to create for myself...
How could they ever experience it?
They don't live.
They can't.
Because they were born from my misery, from my emptiness.
They were never born to be happy.
They were born to survive.
Still...
Somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispers:
Maybe in another universe, I'm still fighting.
Maybe in another universe... I'm finally alive.