I exist today. Hoping that I would live someday. Treading on the roads others have built for me. Leading to where they want me to be. I breathe; I bleed to know I exist. But I am not alive. To be who I want to be, everyday I strive. But something inside me is dead. I can’t seem to name it. Maybe it’s a mixture of hope, gleefulness and confidence. Or maybe not. I’m just not the same person I was. I lived in the moment. I laughed and cried at/for the things that were happening to me at that very moment. But it’s not the same anymore. Half of me lives in past and half of me lives in the future. Birds, music and colors don’t excite me anymore. Rain does not make me wish someone was with me right now. They killed me. They killed the person I was. I know I’m not going back to be me again. I can’t. They are accustomed to the new me. But I am not. I miss who I used to be. I miss dying to be with my friends, I miss the way I loved to make them feel special, I miss not caring about how I look or what others think about me and being grateful for having amazing people who care about me. They changed it. They changed it all. I lived for myself. I was satisfied. They made me conscious about my weight, my height, the way I look, the way I talk, the way I walk. They told me if I’ll be too excited, happy or sad for others, they’ll think of me as clingy and clumsy and get tired of me. Get tired of me? But I love them so dearly! They have to love me back! No dear, they just respect you. But they will eventually get tired of you. Why? Because you care too much. Oh how it hurts to know the truth about this cruel world. I didn’t want to lose them. So I just kept a slight distance between them and me. But it was too late. They had already gotten tired of me. Slowly, the cruel world kept revealing its secrets to me and it changed me or killed me? Because I’m not alive. I merely exist. I exist to wait for the day when I’ll finally be able to say that I’m alive.