//from the diary of an introvert//
When I think of the moments I've been the happiest, it's strange how most of them do not involve other people. I've felt out of place for the longest time, and for the longest time, I've tried to fit in. I've felt incapable of feeling happy-the kind that comes so easily to people around me. Parties, drinking, blinding lights and the whole shebang hardly excites me. I try, I promise, but it doesn't bring me joy or thrill or whatever it is most people get out of it. If anything, it makes me scared. I step out, and I feel this aching desire to go back home. But do not get me wrong, I do not hate people, and I am not lonely or sad. In fact, I have so much love for people in my heart; I owe my life to them, and I might just be one of those unusually happy people that make you wonder what's so good about life. I think I simply enjoy my company a little more. I love softness, I love random conversations in the kitchen, I love dancing in my room to no song in particular. That's my kinda party: a quiet corner, a conversation, a "look at the sky!" moment that lasts forever. I am tired of trying to find happiness in other, more dominant, louder ways of people. I am trying not to compare my party to theirs. Perhaps the world would consider me boring, but let the world know-I am VERY happy in my boredom, and i couldn’t care less.
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