It's silly that I want someone– to be wrapped around their arms, my face tucked under their chin,– Yet the thought of being committed drains me so. *And yet, I yearned to be rich, in love, in loyalty, and in life.* It's silly that I thought my feet won't touch the ground, the warmth and moist soil of nature. I had assumed I would float, pretty blues and whites surrounding me. *And yet, I preferred the ground, with many things that believed that I had purpose to be on it and not above.* It's silly that a year ago, I told myself I'd be better. Grades high, top of my class, handing in work early like THE good student. It's silly that I'd wanted to be quiet, calm– unlike the girl that crashed at the drop of the shoe. Unlike the girl who yelled and needed to calm herself in the corner. It's silly to think I'd changed for the better. But it turned to the worst. *I no longer recognize who was in the reflection.* It's silly to think that I was lost, drifting and utterly miserable. No purpose and wondered every day, Why was I here. It's silly that I *wanted* to be a different person entirely. It's silly that I wanted to be *moulded* to society's standards. It's silly that dressing nice was considered putting too much effort. It's silly that eating out was too much. It's silly that being happy with a stained grin on your lips, should have been genuine. Was it silly? Or was I forced to think it was?