Spoiler warning: overwrought cliches ahoy. If you dislike stream-of-consciousness rambling, look away now.
What there is of a personality to me feels like multiple veneers; baked in the sun over too many summers, now peeling, flaking away to each touch. Scratch it and one might find.. what?
I'm tired of not being able to define my own purpose, of not even being poor enough a liar as to successfully lie to myself.
I'm tired of looking for meaning. I see a void and wish to revel in it, exult in it. And yet, I cannot.
I know there's a joyful self in me somewhere. I've seen glimpses of it. The thought sometimes gnaws at me.
I have a love for shit metaphors. Can you tell?
,now i know why you are JOTM.