The introspective

by brightmoor

Marluxia goes on a rant about how his daddy never loved him, basically. I hereby dedicate this nightmarish monstrosity to Xendell, who inspired me to write something not totally ridiculous about Number XI. I'm kidding about all the mean stuff.

Yes, I admit it. I am jealous of Numbers XIII and VIII. It's so bitter and fierce, this feeling. I hate it. I hate to hate, but I do.

I wish I could fell all the things they feel. The good things. Love. Happiness.

Acceptance.

As much as I hate (yet another instance of that terrible emotion) to admit it, I have never been as welcome here as everyone else is. Am I so different than they are?

Truthfully, I am. I used to believe I was somehow... what, better? I was never better than anyone else. Every time I try to tell myself differently, I... I can't.

My pride has hurt me so much.

I am being tortured by these strange, alien emotions which should not belong to me in the first place. All I want, all I have ever wanted, is to feel happy. To have friends. To have a family. To have love.

I'll never know why. I'm not important enough to know why. I'm not important to anyone.

I'll continue to lie about these feelings, these emotions, I should never have had.