April and the Fool 【N… - Earnings, Membership count, Concurrent viewers, Comments

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Top 71.3%

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Category	Rank	Top X%
Overall	88,366th	71.3%
Female	68,586th	71.2%
NIJISANJI EN	2,228th	83.1%

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@Pokey-777

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11 months ago

Dear April, I find myself writing yet another letter to you. I cannot tell if this has become a habit or I simply just miss you. With each passing day, I feel less and less relevant. Ever since you've left, for better or worse, I find that a fragment of myself is also slowly disappearing alongside you and in the mind of those who used to be more curious about us. I remember last year, it felt like people cared about me more. My health was in shambles from excessive anxiety and stress and the hole that you dented in our wall was the perfect expression of that. Still, my own mother suddenly seemed less so and more motherly. My friends visited more often and would show their care through frustrations from my lack of life updates. My father would weep and think about me more than the newly bought flowers that he had been cultivating. I felt comfort and recognition in a time of much misery, thanks to you. A week ago, I went out with a friend and they told me something I've never thought I needed to hear. I wish I hadn't heard it, but simultaneously I'm glad that I heard it. She said our love seemed to have blossomed from my anxiety(??) that you fed off of. You were insecure about a lot of things but I loved you either way. Meanwhile, I was society's wasted prodigy; less educated thoughts, unpolished opinions, and a very clumsy way of speaking. But you loved me either way. And so over the course of our time together, I developed much admiration and respect for you. As your parents would praise every single cell that created you, and your neighbors and friends would sing songs in your honor, I found myself joining along. And I was happy to do so. Then came my first opportunity in life: the life of a clown. I hesitated when I got this offer. Me, a clown? I've really outdone myself in reaching the lowest of the lowest. Although, I always wondered why when putting on my red nose, rainbow wig and polka-dotted suit, I felt so at home. I felt like I could finally put all my awkward and ungrateful self into one vessel and flourish. As pathetic and shameful as I felt starting out, I was good at being a clown. I made people laugh, I made some people cry, maybe some angry as well, but I made people feel. I left something behind, and every day it was being carried off by a stranger, whether it would be in the form of a thought or feeling. I was happy to return home and share my stories of being a clown. For once I was proud of myself; I was happy to be a clown. But you weren't. Finally I've started to gain my own sense of consciousness. My anxiety(??) was no longer the barrier protecting you from feeling all of your insecurities. Granted, I was and still am stupid, but stupid had put more bread on the table and stupid made something inside of me feel alive. I felt guilty for my momentary success but deep down I had hoped you would be proud of me nonetheless. I had hoped that you would see I was willing to be a fool for us to be happy. Then it started. You would disappear into the night doing God knows what. One night, I pondered. Two weeks, I started searching. Three months passed, and before I knew it, sleep was just a concept. Where would you go and why would you return at 4 O'clock in the morning? Every time you came home, it felt like you weren't yourself. Still, your eyes, nose and mouth hadn't changed. Your body was just as beautiful as the day I met you. I greeted you the same, asking less questions every rare sunrise you had decided to come home, hoping that you'd stay a little longer. I can't really remember the rest but I'm sure you do. This letter became a lot longer than I thought. Today, I am still a clown but I'd like to say a rather more humbled clown. A nearby circus had just opened so a mere singular, unaccompanied clown like me is now but a nostalgic chapter in a child's storybook. Nowadays, to get any sort of attention, I find myself pitching my voice higher, sillier. I hurt myself the other day slipping on a banana peel that a person intentionally left on the ground. It was the highlight of their week. I sing badly on purpose for the folks across the street that didn't make it into the church choir. You must be thinking: why would you do that to yourself? But I realized. I still find comfort putting on my red nose, rainbow wig and polka-dotted suit. It helps cover up my anxiety and stress. It helps cover the hole. In the silliest and ironic way, I felt at home being a clown because I was always your biggest fool. A fool that would give you the world. A fool that would still write to you after 10 years. APRIL FOOLS BITCHES! YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS GONNA BE THE STREAM OF ALL TIME BUT IT WAS JUST A-

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