Sometimes, I wonder if there’s already a version of me out there. the one who didn’t fuck it up, the one who got it right. The one I was supposed to be. And here I am, just a glitch. A mess. A mistake in the grand scheme of who I was meant to become. But instead of pretending like I could ever get there, I’m learning to deal with this glitch. This broken version of me, holding its ground, maybe for no other reason than it has no choice.
I’m not perfect. I never was, never will be. But this version of me? This one is tired. Exhausted. Scrappy. And it’s learning, not because I want it to, but because I have no other option. The more I fight against who I am, the more I realize that this mess (the glitch) might be the only thing that’s really real about me. So I let it stick around.
At least it’s mine.
I keep trying to fix it, but maybe there’s nothing to fix. This is me. And maybe it’ll always be. So I’ll just keep living in the glitch, because I guess that’s what I get.