1/1: Half
«I'm sitting here, half in love with someone I shouldn't be in love with, half hating myself for it, and half...well, I guess those are all my halves. Math has never been my thing.
Half wishing they felt the same, or maybe even — I don’t know — half afraid they might. That’s the thing, though. You think you’re waiting for the world to make sense, waiting to become someone who’s sure of things, waiting for that answer that’ll make you sigh with relief. But life? Life’s always going to be this weird, misshapen puzzle with pieces you swear don’t belong in any of the corners you’re staring at.
It’s like… It’s like being in a room you don’t remember walking into. You’re in it, and everyone else seems to know why they’re there, but you’re just looking around like, How did I get here? When did I say yes to this?
Maybe there isn’t a point. Maybe it’s just this: sitting here, chasing down the next laugh or trying to ignore the next ache, always stuck in the middle, always half of something.»
