Diary Entry #6 Not real

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Three thousand, seven hundred, and twenty-nine seconds later. I'm at the beach while writing this. It's peaceful here. Even though I'll probably never be able to talk to Mila or anyone else again, I feel calm. It feels as though I could stay here at this beach and do nothing. None of the things I've done to keep myself away from my own brain, just sit and think about nothing. I'm not free in the slightest, but I feel like I am. This scene has brought back my memory of me and Mila deciding to walk for three hours on a whim to go to the beach, only to make it there while the sun was setting.

Maybe I have actually been tired this whole time

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Maybe I have actually been tired this whole time. My body just kept going because my head didn't want to stop. I said that time had stopped, but what even is time? In a book I read I was told that time was a measure of non-stop, consistent change in our surroundings, usually from a specific viewpoint. Time could simply be a viewpoint, an illusion, all made up because my lonely mind decided to create it. The only difference between the scene in front of me now and the one from the "past" was that Mila used to be in it and the sun was setting, not rising. On technical terms the sun doesn't even seem to be rising and maybe it never rose in the first place. My family, friends, even the people on the side of the street each day could've been made up because of my boredom. The faces I see without motion might've been a reference and the personalities made up. Nothing ever existed, my under stimulated mind created it.

Well let's be honest, that is probably not correct, but how I wish it was. If all of that was not real, then there wouldn't be a reason to long for those normal days where I would slave away at school, do homework, and sleep. Of course, I'm completely aware how foolish these ideas seem and most likely are. At the same time, the chances of me already having the exact same thought multiple times already are quite high because as I said, things are quite boring.

Tw: s/h

Changing topic, I carry a knife around with me now. A strange discovery I had was that for some reason I still feel pain, but I don't breathe and my heart doesn't beat. It's like one of those sad novels where someone dies and wanders the ghost realm completely alone. I could be dead, it's not as though I have any way to know. Pain is quite nostalgic to me in a grotesque way. When I run out of things to think about, I end up scratching my skin and other gruesome things. I'm completely aware that it's not healthy, but that doesn't actually apply in reality, well if this is reality.

Tw over.

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