"I'm not important. I'm convenient. There's a difference. "
He believed that. Somewhere deep in his heart, he thought that to be true. He wasn't the important thing. How he felt didn't actually matter. It was never about him.
His school friends, his immediate family, even people on online chat boards and forums.
It was about convenience. He made for a great sounding board, someone good for a person to ask advice from, for someone to talk to about anything.
His parents loved being able to have him run errands. His siblings adored the big brother that spoiled them. His friends always came to him when they needed advice.
But nothing he said was his own. Those words were washed out, recycled from stories and music and dim passing thoughts. They were there to make things better, not to actually hold meaning.
He was there when no-one else was. He was the forgotten toy that was only played with when the rest got boring, discarded once more when a new one came along.
When he wanted to reach someone, though, they were never there.
They would never listen.
Yeah, if he just went and blew up on them they'd try to pacify him. They couldn't have their outlet get away, after all. That just wouldn't due.
But if he was upset, if he was tired, if he was hurting and just wanted someone to do for him what he did for others, they're weren't there.
He tried, time and time and time again. He would try to reach out, to be pushed away. He would try to hint, to be ignored. He would try to find his own outlet, to be told that he didn't need one. He just wanted someone, anyone, to listen to him and reach for him, and he couldn't find it.
Oh, they weren't cruel about it. Never cruel. They just didn't care enough to do something for him themselves, and didn't like it when other things took his attention.
He was broken, but he still functioned, so it didn't matter that pieces were missing.
After a while, he became a damn good liar because of that. Fake smile, false words, empty promises. He knew all the tricks on how to help someone without giving himself away too much.
He trusted so easily and yet it was so hard to earn it. The "closer" he is to someone, the more he craves to tell them, and the less he actually does. Can't keep making the same mistake, right?
He did and he didn't. He would trust people more than he wanted, and get hurt for the mistake. But it happened again and again and he knew it wouldn't stop.
There was a part of him, a part kept locked away, that just wanted to leave. To run and see where he would end up.
He would never do it, of course. His job was to make people feel better, and how could he do that if they were busy worrying about where he had went? And how would he even start? He couldn't draw, he couldn't write, he was no good at math or science or English. He would never make it on his own though that's one thing of the few things he wanted most out of his life.
He just wanted to be himself for a while, not what someone else seems to want him to be, not what someone else needs him to be. Though he long ago lost sight of what he is himself, he wanted to find it again.
But…
He didn't think he knew how to change.
He so didn't.
Come the next day, he put on smile for another and listened. He gave empty words and played a game and drift through another dull day wishing he knew how to change.
He decided to keep being convenient, because that's all he knew how to be.
He stayed the same, wishing he was brave enough to change, wishing he knew how to start.
He'd never be important.
A/N: It's been a... An interesting night.
Anyway.
Thank you for reading.
-cross posted at AO3-