Everyone is very much unreal. The people who wish you a good day, but never speak to you again. Those who roam the tiring space of your school, but never say anything worth listening. Everyone is very much unreal, even the ones who claim to be real, and there is nothing for me to do to change my melancholic mind. These are my thoughts and feelings, unfortunately, I'm still very sane.
I met many people, but only a few I can remember. I talk to people, but only a few remember what I wrote the previous day. I met a girl, and she looks exactly like me, except she has the appearance of a female, but has the mind of a Human. That's the reason she looks exactly like me.
For too long I will find comfort in books instead of social relationships, and that isn't wrong or right, it's just how I want it to be. I want to be someone who is many books with detailed pages that belong to many, but are understood by just a few or none at all. You may think or believe that I'm a cynical, and you even may be right, however, what would make you create such assumptions? The way I walk, talk or write? Perhaps you're right and I'm wrong. Perhaps all of this is a cynical creation of my poor mind, and you will think bad of me. But I won't care, I'm too cynical in my writings.