a recluse's lament

I've grown afraid of the world out there.

it's easy, too easy, to sit here and read about adventures or watch movies about beautiful people or look at pictures of amazing landscapes. all it does is make the real world as a whole seem that much harsher.

there are liars out there. and hypocrites and bullies and thieves. murderers! chem teachers! and sometimes it's not like the stories, they don't get caught. and then there's the pollution, the natural disasters, the politics.

no, no, no, it's much safer here in my room. I'll go out when I have to and surround myself with things that distract me, like lots of colors in my hair or pretty scents on my skin or a friend to make me laugh. create a comfort zone.

and then there's you. who do you think you are, trying to drag me out into the grime and the grit and the scrutiny of this world? no, wait, you're worse than that. you make me want to- why would you do such a thing? I can stay inside with my secrets and my netflix subscription and you can go alone to the amazing landscapes, with beautiful people, have adventures.

so why does thinking about you doing all that without me make my stomach hurt?

I want to curl up in my purple comforter in bed all day but I want you here with me, is that too much to ask? you can tell me stories about the things that haven't all gone to shit but who gave you the right to make me believe them?

I'd willingly follow you into the brightness, the confusion, the terrifying world out there, if you were just guiding me by the hand.