No one can ever pretend to know what it feels like to be you. How you try to fit in, but not quite getting it right. A smudge from a perfectly drawn world No one can ever say they know how it feels like to hurt yourself on the outside, because you are trying to destroy the monsters devouring you from the inside. No one can ever say they understand. Not while they live and you have long died. Not while they are whole and you are scattered in miserable broken pieces beneath their feet. No one can ever say they understand your nightmares. Not while they sleep through the night. Not when they’ve never met the monsters that haunt you as soon as you close your eyes.