It’s 1 in the morning right now and I’m sitting in the mirror trying to figure out who I am, who will I be, who do I want to be, really. If I’m being truthful I don’t know, I don’t even understand the feeling I’m supposed to get when I do know. Everyone around me says it’s okay since I’m only 16, but at heart it doesn’t feel like it. I feel lost, and it’s not as if I’m not interested in anything, however I’ve been consciously living for about 10 years, yet nothing I’ve done nor seen constantly calls to me, playing back and forth throughout my mind as if it’s My Dream. Nobody seems to talk about it, but I feel like behind those closed doors many people will find that relatable. Even now, I’m spacing out trying to force more and more onto the paper, my thoughts constantly clashing, until they subside into nothingness. Only for their absence to be replaced by the hellish sounds of self doubt and procrastination, maybe I shouldn’t write, I should just do this later, although I know I really won’t. All these premeditated thoughts causing  me to question my sincerity, am I writing from the heart or am I writing hoping you’re hearing me. Will what I write be seen as art, or a placebo for my emotions. The right answer would be both, it just depends on your perception.