Today I was looking for a post to read. I wanted to hear stories about people like us, the unknown readers and writers. Us, who consider writing a hobby and perhaps a passion, but that prefer or maybe involuntary remain hidden. I want to hear from introverted people like me because this is the way I can do it, although I might be wrong and maybe not all introverts write. However, I prefer the enigma and the power of words. The meaning behind written stories interests me more than what people show in their Instagram stories or Facebook posts because those are mere looks. For me what people write for themselves or in private is more truthful and real, or at least that’s what I believe.
I sometimes feel alone, so in my intent to not be, I want to feel relatable, understood, “normal.” I sometimes feel like I am pretending all the time, that maybe I’m not a happy person after all, and that my true personality is just a depressed person living inside a happy body with a happy smile. Yes, I think I feel blue today.
I will try to read stories about introverts who are happy because today I don’t want to read myself. Sorry if you had to read another of my dark mood stories, I promise I’m not always like this. It will get better, I will get better, dear reader.