these are all my selves; archived, unfinished, still breathing, even if barely

welcome to allmyselves. this isn't for followers. it's not for fame or recognition. it's for the ghosts of who i’ve been; the versions of me left behind in DMs, in ashtrays, in mirror glass and party photos. it's for the thought that maybe, just maybe, someone will find this, find me, and understand.

“I wear a thousand faces stitched from silence, each one smiling in the direction of whoever needs me to be something I’m not.”

“She kissed me like she was convincing herself it meant something. I kissed her like I already knew it did.”

“Some days I wonder if I’m hiding, or if I was never really there to begin with.”

call this a digital graveyard or a diary or just noise. either way, it’s mine. and i have no fucking idea what i'm doing