I often wonder if life is

easier for other people

than it is for me or if
I'm simply faulted.
Some day's I like to
believe that other's are
just better at faking
their ways out of
emotional droughts and
that they cry
downpours into their
pillows at night when
the moon is low and
there are no cameras
watching. And on some
occasions, like tonight I
feel as if I'm the only
person who didn't get a
script to play along
with in this so called
life, that I never had a
chance to rehearse my
lines and perfect them
before reciting them in
awkward situations.
That my life will never
be a cinematic
masterpiece but rather
fragments compared to my friends who are smiling, drinking their
lovers spit and not stumbling into center stage tongue tied, empty
minded and frightened that they reviews will come with less than
positive response whenever the curtain finally decides to drop on this
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