...this is my first fic and one of the first things i've written. please don't hate me. it'll probably be a few chapters? if anyone even likes it

disclaimer: i don't own the characters or south park

yolo

I like to read.

Sometimes after I read, my thoughts become jumbled and poetic (at the same time). I think it should concern me, but I prefer it because I kind of like being lost in my thoughts.

My main question is,

am I less myself? or is this plethora of words with no direct meaning to anything in particular more myself than a sensible human being? honestly, who knows.

I don't think it matters.

Have you ever noticed how a word can have multiple meanings? (and some people only know one meaning, or know both but how it's used in a sentence helps them figure out which meaning it is.) Take 'plethora' for an example. An excessive amount of something, or an excess of blood. You obviously knew I mean an excessive amount of thoughts.

Maybe I'm just a word.

Maybe we all are.

Now that isn't just saying that words are all we are, even if it was I think words are fascinating and being a word would probably be an honor. I think it's also kind of like how when we speak of people to others, we can speak highly or lowly of them.

'Craig is the best person I know, he's really pleasant to be around and is very good at listening.'

'Craig is okay, he's really quiet and he never contributes to conversations.'

This is perspective, basically. Craig might not speak very often but it doesn't mean that he isn't interested. And a good listener isn't always obviously a good listener. Quiet people never really seem to be who they are. Maybe that's why I like writing, an outlet to my thoughts and who I am. Or who I think I am.

My reputation, my general identity, my social image, however you would want to put it, is meek to say the least. I don't really mind quite honestly, because it doesn't matter.

Nothing really matters, I guess. But even that doesn't matter.

I don't have many friends. I don't need to list my few friends, but even we don't talk often.

Most of the time I chill in my room, painting, writing, artsy things I suppose. Sometimes I take pictures. I like to read too, I already said that though.

I go to school. I sleep. I do normal teenage stuff.

I mean I've never really been an overachiever by any means, but I guess my interest in writing and art isn't really underachieving either? I'll get back to you on that I guess.

I think I should stop writing soon because I was gonna take a walk and it's already getting dark, but I wanted to write about one more thing..person.

I mean, okay.. his name is Craig. I used his name in the references earlier. I honestly think both kind of apply to him. He's quiet and pleasant, and good at listening. He talks sometimes. It's usually when you let him..I don't think he feels the need to talk unless someone is expecting him to. I admire that.

Sometimes he talks about things and his eyes light up and he glows.

Sometimes he talks about things and his dark blue eyes stay uninterested and he exists as if on another plane. I think sometimes he's in his own universe. I admire that too.

Okay but I'm getting ahead of myself. I really met Craig in fourth grade when we were 'forced' to fight. Stuff happened.

We kind of avoided each other after that because, eh. Why bother? it wasn't worth another confrontation and since both of us didn't even talk much before, why now? I mean, that's why I didn't.

Now..I think something is different about him. I'm not sure what, but something.

And he fascinates me.

I mean, we still don't talk. We haven't.

Sometimes I see him looking at me. That's stupid right?

Not really, honestly. I think it's because he still is indifferent about me, and looking at people is a cool pass-time.

Not just sometimes though. It's a lot. But if I notice it a lot, it must mean I look a lot too?

I don't know.

I think I'll take that walk now.