It's hard to save the world when you can't save yourself

I like a lot of things that aren't good for me.

Losing people you love affects you. It is buried inside of you and becomes this big, deep hole of ache. It doesn't magically go away, even when you stop officially mourning.

Friends help friends fight pixies.

It's hard to save the world when you can't save yourself

Nobody is perfect, though. We all want everyone to think we are, but perfection is some crazy mythical state that we can never achieve. It is a goal beyond our grasp, always shifting and changing and taunting us, because it knows...it knows we can never reach it.

Is everyone as wrong about me as I am about them?