I remember when I walked into Gamestop that one day. I was looking through the catalog of games because we had a Wii U and dad said I could get a game for it. I looked around and saw two games that caught my eye, one of them being Splatoon. I had heard of it before, but it looked strange and childish to me. I made up my mind and told my dad that I would get it, but in my head I had doubts that I would like it very much.

I could never be more wrong.

I soon found myself immersed in the characters and the story. It was so different from the other games I had played- So colorful and entertaining, and even pushed me out of my confort zone to like PVP. It wasn't long before I started drawing art of it, since I liked art decently at the time. I'd say this game led to a huge push in my art progress, trying to draw the characters in the same essence as they appeared.

I eventually stumbled across Miiverse, a currently discontenued program that let me interact with people all over the world. It was the closest to Social Media little 9 year old me could get my hands on and I loved every second of it. I had made some great friends on there and met an amazing community. Later when I got a phone, I joined the aminos and socialized over there.

It's my favorite game. The characters, story and premise is so charming and fun to me. Without Splatoon, I would argue that I wouldn't be the person I am today, however cheesy that may sound.

Sometimes you want to create. Most of you will know this feeling, wanting to write. I want to, too. I also want to make art. To make a song. However, whatever I may do, it doesn't become as good as I'd want it to. So I end om making nothing. Nothing good, then nothing at all. All I can do is hope that I get my ability back again.

That's what they say. They all say that and, in an essence, it is true.

Valentine's day draws near.

Everyone seems to have a date, and all those who don't either whine loudly or stay quiet and treat it like just another day.

However, I'm not sure how to treat it now. My love is useless, yet means the world to me.

I think about them, every day. What it would be like to hug them, kiss them, hear their laugh. Is this love? I've never felt something quite like this before.

But, it's useless, because of an issue. Not that they won't love me back, but they can't.

How, you wonder?

They're not real.

A beautiful combination of pixels on a screen, is all they happen to be. Some may look down apon me, apon this veiw of love. That it's useless, because I will never feel them, and they will never feel at all. I'll have you know pains me they're not real, every time I think about them.

But I still wonder yet, even if they're not real, why do I feel the way I do?

Every day, you follow me.

But you're most apparent while I lay restless on my bed, trying to sleep, and that's where you are. You're there, standing over me, looking through my eyes, staring into my frail soul. Yet we both know it isn't as frail as I'd wish it to be. We all know how imperfect I am. But we also know that I'm a lot worse than one would perceive me to be. My hidden morals, which only circle around my own well-being. I try to make up for it, every day, making my goal in life to assist. To help. Yet you know that no matter what, I'm useless. You know how selfish one really can be.

And one is me.

Emotions. They swirl in my head, wanting a means to escape. They swirl inside all my being, around me, and throughout my soul. Then, all at once, they plummet. They are heavy, dragging me down and I’m drowning. I cry out, but nobody can help. Nobody knows how to help. So they don’t even try. And here I am, a particle of dust, swirling in my problems. I reach forward, towards the slower ones, but they just get pulled down with me. I won’t even be able to lift my arms; I won’t lift my head. I’m crushed. The colors blur around me. A pink coat. A white vase. Several faces. A single tear.

A rich hue, almost royal, glittering like a star.

Bright like a fire, bringing a sense of comfort in the warmth.

A small little sign, showing short alarm, a little splash of light in the dull world.

The pigment in the sky, melting onto our skin as we lay on the grass.

A color associated with joy. I share it as well.

The little lock of hair that follows the little girl as she runs down the street.

The tone on the edges of the old photographs of you and me.

A tint of memory, whether it’s good or bad.

> What do people even write about?

> I’d wright something cool here, but I’m an idiot, aren’t I?

> I don’t even know the correct spelling of write. This is it, isn’t it?

> Whatever. Let’s try a new style...

> This? This looks way better.

> So, this is me.

> I am I.

> I am me.

> I need no name.

> You can call me [UNTITLED] if you really want to, though.

> It’s nice meeting you, [ERROR;UNKNOWN_ENTITY].

> Oh, it’s about time for me to leave.

> I’ll see you soon.

> :)