I am a coward. I strive to be genuine; however, I’ll have to reevaluate such a word. What does it mean to be genuine? Such a splendid word that I thought was correctly in my vocabulary. For I cry for help, only to be met with sorrowful silence. And when that help does arrive, I find myself hiding, masking myself under another person. I’m just a lonely person looking for a mask to hide behind; however, I find these masks are people—they’re always free to leave. And in their absence, the silence thickens, and my deceiving intentions grow as I become more desperate with each person I wear as a mask. Furthermore, I ask myself, am I truly as genuine as I claim to be? What does it mean to be genuine? To be authentic. I’m not that.
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