This is me

I have always been very curious: What kind of self is the most real? Occasionally think about it, and find that the person who knows the least about me is actually myself.

I am a coward, like to look at the sky in a daze; like sky blue; like a person singing; like a person crying; like to laugh in front of everyone, thinking that you can hide my sadness. I don't like to communicate with others; I don't like being seen through people; I don't like people I care about. More often, I will express my repression with a large, sorrowful text.

In school, my classmates often say that I am lonely, very melancholy, very cold and arrogant. In the face of this, I just laugh, even though that laugh is not self-hearted. I feel that I am hypocritical at school.

Back home, I am silent. I don't want to talk to them and even deliberately avoid it. The people at home are very sad, but more are helpless. I know that they don't want to give me pressure. For my indifferent attitude, I found a reason for my own grandiose: I must be independent when I grow up. My so-called independence is that I am the only one who has nothing to do with the outside world. At home, I am quiet.

I think I really grew up and have my own secrets. I gradually learned to lock all my things, and even my heart. Sometimes I feel very tired, I will be confused, I will be helpless, but I will not find someone to help, and I will fail to spread. At this time, I kept the only arrogance.

Everyone has so many faces that we can't tell which one is the truest self. In the face of the complex self, I will sigh: the original pure childhood has quietly gone.