She knew she wasn't the funniest. Or the most entertaining. Or the most popular of the bunch. She knew sometimes her friends laughed at her stupid jokes out of pity or concern over her ego, and that they weren't really amusing at all. She knew she could be boring most of the time, unable to have a dumb conversation despite all the dumb stuff that laid around in her head.

She sometimes wished there wasn't so much shit in there, rattling in her brain, echoing and thrumming for attention, so stark and sharp and aware. There was so much she didn't want to know, or so much she didn't want to remember; but it was there, feeding the machine that was her thought process. Her biggest asset and her biggest burden. It made her dizzy sometimes, confused at what was real and what was pure feeling, trying to wander through life holding only its hand and ignoring the one outstretched by her heart.

But she could love like no other. She could love and give and give and give until there weren't anymore pieces of her soul to give away, until there was nothing else she could help with. She would always be there, and she was always there. Some even thought it was her greatest quality.

But she hated it sometimes. She hated her permanently outstretched arms, and the softness of her character and the understanding in her heart. She hated the friendly smile she saw in the mirror, and wished to be like those others seemed to prefer over her. Colder, more judgemental, with less in their head. Capable of sustaining a stupid conversation for hours on end without ever appearing bored, without ever wondering past the obvious.

Somedays she hated her brains and she hated her heart, and she also hated those who held both so firmly. Somedays, she preferred staying at home, sitting infront of her stupid computer which could not isolate her and hurt her, with that ridiculous classical music she loved so much, with her stupid pen in hand that was her bridge to release all the shit in her head. To create a world were she could give it all without fear or doubt or resignation, because she was the master of it and it would not pull her by the elbow. 

She preferred drawing her stupid wolves than listening to other people's excuses.

After all, they all knew she'd always be there.