It's that moment where everything is still and silent in your house. It should be pitch black in your room, but it isn't because of the light you keep on in case of bad nightmares. You look up at the ceiling and wonder if you'll fall asleep tonight. It's 2 am, you're in bed, you're comfortable, but your eyes will not shut. Your thoughts take over instead, you think of that musing you posted, how everyone was so sweet. You want to take it down- you're embarrassed that you ever put it up. It's the past afterall, isn't it? It doesn't matter anymore, you should just ignore it. But then you think of that guy, and your mind automatically says that you aren't good enough for him. He's going to see you when you two meet and want to turn right back around and go back home because you aren't beautiful and you aren't skinny and you aren't the person he wants to be with. And the tears run down your face as you wonder if that's true. What if you two meet and he doesn't want to be with you anymore? The sobs run through your body, and last long enough that your cat gets worried and jumps up and gives you a couple of his sand-paper kisses before going back to sleep at the end of the bed on top of your hope chest.

You tell yourself to shut up and after awhile, you do and wipe away the tears. A few minutes later, you're asleep, having a nightmare that you're running from vampires- your hair in the nightmare is a gorgeous red color and you're skinny- curvy still, but skinny- and you can run more than you can in real life and just as you're starting to think this is a good dream and not a nightmare, the vampires catch up and they kill you and you wake up to your average body with your average looks and your dull brown hair. You get up, groggy, and go to the restroom then lay back down on your bed, message that special guy... but he doesn't answer, he's probably sleeping still, so you fall asleep again to then wake up at noon. You stand and walk out to the computer, fart around for a little, and think about writing this, and by the end you're out of things to say...

And you want to delete it because it's stupid and you feel weak again because you told everyone you cried last night. That's supposed to be secret, you think, but you submit it anyway and you hope no one's too harsh on you about your weakness and your idiocy. You're harsh enough on yourself.

No, you should be harsher.

No, you're too harsh.

No.

No.

No.

...

No. You're gorgeous.

(No, I'm ugly)