Maybe, just maybe.

Just keep running. Never look back.

...

I wouldn't call myself being a coward. Just someone who probably needs to take a little break - someone who needs to breathe - someone who needs to take a step back, look at all the beautiful things in life, and once again learn to appreciate life and all the simple happiness it brings.  

Take a look again.

What exactly is precious to you?

If it's something irreplaceable, never let it go - but if you can live without it, then you probably don't need it anyway.

Many things used to be a game to you, Anne. 

I would say that I have the capability to be twisted. It's just a part of me that exists. There is the potential, and I know it. Sometimes I think being a puppeteer would be fun - but sometimes I crave for nothing more but simplicity, where life lays before me in its barest, truest form. 

But what exactly is the truth? 

Well, don't I know it. The truth is that my words have hurt others, and my actions have scarred them deeply. I know this much. But I also know that despite the nastiness in me, many of these incidents were unplanned for - meaning that they were events that happened just because they did, not because I schemed them from the very beginning. Deep inside there is a part of me that wants to hurl every single glass ornament in the case at an endless darkness while screaming, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I never meant it to be this way! I'm sorry!"

And, more importantly...

"Forgive me. Please, for all that's worth, forgive me for the things I have done. For the things I have said. I cannot rewind time - I cannot erase the wounds I have inflicted on you - but please, forgive me."

But the years have passed, and truth be told, it has been such a long time ago. I have hurt many - far too many. Sometimes my mind goes a little hazy and I blink at the old memories that resurface. It feels funny when they do, something like watching a broken recorder, but I know that they were once significant. Far too significant.

Apparently people deal with stress and the conflict in their minds in different ways. A person I had hurt three years ago had forgotten what I had done to him - the only thing he remembered was that he was upset - or "really bummed", as he nicely put it. I was surprised, delighted, and disappointed at the same time. While it was a good thing that he didn't remember, it also meant that he had forgotten about the days I had spent with him too. I was having conflicting emotions, and that itself was strange. 

"I don't mean to dig up buried skeletons," he said. "But...could you tell me why?" 

I froze, and he pressed on.

"What exactly happened between us?" 

I remembered, of course. I remembered the things I did to people. However, even though I remembered - it didn't mean that I liked thinking about it. It was a particularly painful process telling him, and I kept my words as vague as possible. He could interpret them in any way he liked. 

In the end, I was still happier that he had forgotten.

I wonder whether there's a happy ending for everyone out there. Fairy tales seem to put it that way, and all of us try to be as generous to our friends as possible - because honestly, what else can you do to comfort someone you know when they're in pain? You're not in their shoes - and no matter how similar an experience you've had, it is their experience, and you both know it.

Sometimes things are just stupid, and everything turns out stupid. 

But it's not so bad. Sometimes isolating yourself is better. It feels good, even - despite having an infection that's screwing up my brains a little - that I'm doing this the proper way. Isolation. Isolationism. It's not that hard. It doesn't hurt. It feels calm. It feels...wonderful.

It's like you have the time in the world to do what you want, even if your parents bug you all the time to adopt a healthier lifestyle and to stop looking at the computer so much but oh hell, that would never change. It's like not being confined to an old online society of stereotypes, where you have to check up on others and fulfill some form of responsibility to them.

It just feels different.

And it gives you the space to interact with new people.

I particularly like interacting with those on fanfiction - especially if they're mostly from different countries. They see thinks differently, view the world in another manner. It's almost fascinating. You get to know them, and they get to know you. Friendship knows no boundaries - I think I learned that a long time ago. The whole long-distance thing will never be an issue. They're just so interesting. Sometimes I receive compliments that make me leap for joy, sometimes I receive negative criticism that makes me sink a little lower. You get to find out that not all Americans are obnoxious, not all Brits are stodgy, and that Canadians are interesting beings. You get to know how life works for them, and how it is like viewing things in their eyes.

Sometimes you end up talking to them so much, and you realize how thankful you are for technology.

Especially for Google Translate, even if it's an ass half of the time.

"I think," my Russian friend, a young friendly female - whose name I shall not mention - said, "You will be better off loving another."

Uh-huh.

"I want you to meet my friend. His name is x, he's nineteen, and he's a childhood friend of mine. He's nice and sweet. And he's cute. Don't be shy."

I don't care if fairy tales don't come true. Sometimes all you need is a fresh perspective in life. Perhaps that's where it comes in. The whole process repeats. Names. Age. New things to socialize about. Language barriers. Photographs. Laughter.

Perhaps that's what it's all about.