i realized that i think i write about myself, but i really don’t.
i’m not honest to myself.
i need to write about jealousy, about insecurity. about why i feel the way i feel. about the past and its ugly stains, the kind that you wash again and again and they don’t come out.
i need to write about being a twin, and being compared. about needing to be more than, or better than.
competitiveness lies in me not as a tool but as a weakness, where i avoid that which i feel competitive with.