he stared at himself in the mirror, not seeing what i see, not feeling what i feel. the strength and courage that i know reside within the wall of that chest cavity keeps me going – how can he not understand? how can he not feel that power? the words he speaks when he gets on the mic are so empowering it makes me feel like an ant in the world.
How can I truly get to know him when he doesn’t really know himself? How can I expect him to give himself to me when he doesn’t have a grip on himself as it is?
Cornelia
It was a dreary day, unlike any other. He had no one, but himself. Everyone he had ever knew had left, but that was fine. At the end of the day, they were never really his to begin with.
Polina
He talks quietly to himself. Fashions himself as an amazing person to others. He’s attractive, funny, witty, and has a body of a God but I don’t think he knows this for himself.
CLP
They were sitting around in a circle, playing an introductory name game. But when it was his turn, he didn’t know what to say about himself.
Himself, it describes the power and freedom and a sense of accomplishment. it is a double edged sword. he hurt himself and helped himself. in a sense himself is a word powerless without the verb behind it. and vice versa. This word can mean the world to a man. It can set the stage for anything and everything. it describes the lonely battle that one man may have, or the journey that one takes to become… himself.
Michael
Alone
The world isn’t against him, but still he feels alone
All by himself
He wrote an essay. It was about himself. About things he felt that noone knew . But nobody knew it was about him. That was the point. He was proud. And confident when he left home.
Ida
He always thinks about himself and no one else. He is a very selfish person and does not care about anyone except for him. It is so sad to witness someone in that state of mind, all the time. Soemthing needs to be done to change this.
Beth
he doesn’t know himself. He thinks about himself as someone selfish he’s sees only the negative qualities and never realizes that he makes me feel like I have self worth, that i’m allowed to cry and that he wants to share his favorite things in the world with me. That’s what he should realize about himself.
Rachel
He never believes in it. He was so self-conscious and insecure. He had no clue that he was the only person I’d ever loved or wanted and he still thought it was important to constrict me from everyone else. I am in love with him. ONLY HIM. But he wont swallow his pride. Not this time, not ever. He wanted to ensure I would never leave, but the strangling he was doing was, not helping himself.
Maggie
Me, myself, and I; the three people I could rely on. At least I knew they wouldn’t ever let me down. Not like that double-crossing sister of mine…
I can’t write
I can’t find the words any more
I can’t conjure the images in my head that I used to
I am stuck within myself
Moving against a current of my own defeat
All the colour has been sapped from my world
Herself. He wondered what she thought about him. Did the date go well? They only talked about last night’s baseball game and the dreariness of the weather this week. Oh well. He was only 34.
Nick
He said he wanted to be by himself. So I guess I will let him. I will probably never know how it feels to crawl into bed and feel his warm arms wrapped around me again. I probably will never know what our children will look like or what our wedding would be like or what our home would be or where and we will never fight again never love never fuck and never fuck it up again.
That’s all he ever thought about. Himself. Pompous.
Full of himself. Selfishness. Yet she still loved him.
Erica
he talks about himself in the third person. Always using the “royal we”. He is funny and knows how to laugh at himself.
Monica
the man was sitting in the fog, alone. thinking of past, present, future. time ticking by, hard hat on. an empty sardine tin in his lap, hands gnarled, nails yellow clutching the wheel of the ford pickup…he waited.
amiller
he loves thinking about everything that stands in front of him and he starts crashing against it with his mouth. he is so quickly, yes he is. and you can never say if he is saying the truth. maybe he does, but who cares, actually. i love him and he’s so damn good
alba
all one thinks about. That’s what my mind goes to, about how all people think about themselves. sure sometimes its understandable, but some are just too much. are we really worth it?
Jake
His sister had a matryoshka when they were young. She would stack it and stack it, take it a part and put it together again. He had become the doll, he though. He was not sure how many layers there were but he had become nothing more than countless wooden skins.
Himself. Is it himself? Or is it myself? Am I my own self? That’s definitely an interesting question, and I think this will take more than a minute to truly answer. I am currently thinking that I don’t really own my thoughts, and that troubles me. Troubles himself.
is a word used to describe a male, as in ‘he looked at himself, and only say his imperfections’. It’s a commonly used word and frankly you should already know what it means. If you didn’t, go back to school! And read! Reading is amazing!
Dan
himeself was the only thing he knew, but had yet to discover all of him. He loved going on adventures within and discovering the diffident facets and hideaways within himself.
Tamara
to see himself in the mirror was a strange thing indeed, this time he looked different from what he normally saw back. he finally came to the conclusion that it was because of her, she had made him see himself for what he really was and saw that this was the reason that she had said no.
ashleigh
Sometimes I thought — no matter what he did, he did for himself.
“Himself”, sagte Emma. Hinter ihr brauste das Meer. Um sie herum lagen verrostete Konservendosen, Fischgerippe, aufgedröselte Seile, Muschelscherben und jede Menge Handys, alle voller Wasser und mit trüben Displays. Sie schrie gegen den Wind an: “HIMSELF!!!!”
He was alone; by himself. I missed his touch, his comfort but there was nothing i could do about it. He could be whoever he wanted alone, and I’m glad he was who he wanted to be, without me.
That’s all he ever thinks about. Himself. Himself. Himself. Altering his world so it is all about him. He says things, thinks things, does things. But they’re all for him. And the day will come when others will realize the uselessness of being with him…..for all he cares about is his stupid self.
things are never as they are. he is always alone inside. outside he may be laughing, smiling, coaxing, pushing and prodding people’s limits but inside he is dying a little every second. he grits his teeth each time he sees her with him, and not him.
anje
there are times when he is always alone and being by himself. it saddens me to see him hunching over from the back. i can imagine the look on his face – the one filled with dark regrets on what he should have done and not done. the things which he missed and the things he hopes was better done.
anje
he is one, an idea of solitude, his own self, a straight forward gender, when creating the world in his own image he seems to not find any comparative value in moving beyond
himself. alone. he was himself, and nothing about that could be changed. I am myself, and no one else. That’s why we fell apart. That’s why it didn’t work. we were two different people.
bethany
He himself was a lonely man of lonely thoughts. She scattered his mind no where to be seen in the empty voice. If only she could hear. Aye me, he would cry. Woe is me. Why have you
Blah
He was not himself today. Something was…off. A subtle pain seemed to be housed in his chest, and he could not quite place its source. Random thoughts raced around his head, evil, masochistic thoughts. He didn’t even know if they were his, he didn’t think they were.
the Irish term for the master of the house. someone whom speaks about himself in the third person. Bob. Becker. opposite of herself. the elf. he himself and him he who loves himself can love others.
Kathy
He only ever cared about himself. Always concerned with only what he wanted and what made him happy. So I gave up on him. Because one day, I got tired of his bullshit, of always forgiving him for being so selfish, and so that was the end of an epic friendship.
he didn’t even think about it. he stretched out his hand and jumped. if only he’d considered himself in the equation. things may have turned out better.
he stared at himself in the mirror, not seeing what i see, not feeling what i feel. the strength and courage that i know reside within the wall of that chest cavity keeps me going – how can he not understand? how can he not feel that power? the words he speaks when he gets on the mic are so empowering it makes me feel like an ant in the world.
He hated himself. Everything he was. Nothing about him seemed good enough for her. And she agreed.
me as a third person
How can I truly get to know him when he doesn’t really know himself? How can I expect him to give himself to me when he doesn’t have a grip on himself as it is?
It was a dreary day, unlike any other. He had no one, but himself. Everyone he had ever knew had left, but that was fine. At the end of the day, they were never really his to begin with.
He talks quietly to himself. Fashions himself as an amazing person to others. He’s attractive, funny, witty, and has a body of a God but I don’t think he knows this for himself.
They were sitting around in a circle, playing an introductory name game. But when it was his turn, he didn’t know what to say about himself.
Himself, it describes the power and freedom and a sense of accomplishment. it is a double edged sword. he hurt himself and helped himself. in a sense himself is a word powerless without the verb behind it. and vice versa. This word can mean the world to a man. It can set the stage for anything and everything. it describes the lonely battle that one man may have, or the journey that one takes to become… himself.
Alone
The world isn’t against him, but still he feels alone
All by himself
He wrote an essay. It was about himself. About things he felt that noone knew . But nobody knew it was about him. That was the point. He was proud. And confident when he left home.
He always thinks about himself and no one else. He is a very selfish person and does not care about anyone except for him. It is so sad to witness someone in that state of mind, all the time. Soemthing needs to be done to change this.
he doesn’t know himself. He thinks about himself as someone selfish he’s sees only the negative qualities and never realizes that he makes me feel like I have self worth, that i’m allowed to cry and that he wants to share his favorite things in the world with me. That’s what he should realize about himself.
He never believes in it. He was so self-conscious and insecure. He had no clue that he was the only person I’d ever loved or wanted and he still thought it was important to constrict me from everyone else. I am in love with him. ONLY HIM. But he wont swallow his pride. Not this time, not ever. He wanted to ensure I would never leave, but the strangling he was doing was, not helping himself.
Me, myself, and I; the three people I could rely on. At least I knew they wouldn’t ever let me down. Not like that double-crossing sister of mine…
I can’t write
I can’t find the words any more
I can’t conjure the images in my head that I used to
I am stuck within myself
Moving against a current of my own defeat
All the colour has been sapped from my world
Herself. He wondered what she thought about him. Did the date go well? They only talked about last night’s baseball game and the dreariness of the weather this week. Oh well. He was only 34.
He said he wanted to be by himself. So I guess I will let him. I will probably never know how it feels to crawl into bed and feel his warm arms wrapped around me again. I probably will never know what our children will look like or what our wedding would be like or what our home would be or where and we will never fight again never love never fuck and never fuck it up again.
That’s all he ever thought about. Himself. Pompous.
Full of himself. Selfishness. Yet she still loved him.
he talks about himself in the third person. Always using the “royal we”. He is funny and knows how to laugh at himself.
the man was sitting in the fog, alone. thinking of past, present, future. time ticking by, hard hat on. an empty sardine tin in his lap, hands gnarled, nails yellow clutching the wheel of the ford pickup…he waited.
he loves thinking about everything that stands in front of him and he starts crashing against it with his mouth. he is so quickly, yes he is. and you can never say if he is saying the truth. maybe he does, but who cares, actually. i love him and he’s so damn good
all one thinks about. That’s what my mind goes to, about how all people think about themselves. sure sometimes its understandable, but some are just too much. are we really worth it?
His sister had a matryoshka when they were young. She would stack it and stack it, take it a part and put it together again. He had become the doll, he though. He was not sure how many layers there were but he had become nothing more than countless wooden skins.
Himself. Is it himself? Or is it myself? Am I my own self? That’s definitely an interesting question, and I think this will take more than a minute to truly answer. I am currently thinking that I don’t really own my thoughts, and that troubles me. Troubles himself.
is a word used to describe a male, as in ‘he looked at himself, and only say his imperfections’. It’s a commonly used word and frankly you should already know what it means. If you didn’t, go back to school! And read! Reading is amazing!
himeself was the only thing he knew, but had yet to discover all of him. He loved going on adventures within and discovering the diffident facets and hideaways within himself.
to see himself in the mirror was a strange thing indeed, this time he looked different from what he normally saw back. he finally came to the conclusion that it was because of her, she had made him see himself for what he really was and saw that this was the reason that she had said no.
Sometimes I thought — no matter what he did, he did for himself.
“Himself”, sagte Emma. Hinter ihr brauste das Meer. Um sie herum lagen verrostete Konservendosen, Fischgerippe, aufgedröselte Seile, Muschelscherben und jede Menge Handys, alle voller Wasser und mit trüben Displays. Sie schrie gegen den Wind an: “HIMSELF!!!!”
He was alone; by himself. I missed his touch, his comfort but there was nothing i could do about it. He could be whoever he wanted alone, and I’m glad he was who he wanted to be, without me.
That’s all he ever thinks about. Himself. Himself. Himself. Altering his world so it is all about him. He says things, thinks things, does things. But they’re all for him. And the day will come when others will realize the uselessness of being with him…..for all he cares about is his stupid self.
things are never as they are. he is always alone inside. outside he may be laughing, smiling, coaxing, pushing and prodding people’s limits but inside he is dying a little every second. he grits his teeth each time he sees her with him, and not him.
there are times when he is always alone and being by himself. it saddens me to see him hunching over from the back. i can imagine the look on his face – the one filled with dark regrets on what he should have done and not done. the things which he missed and the things he hopes was better done.
he is one, an idea of solitude, his own self, a straight forward gender, when creating the world in his own image he seems to not find any comparative value in moving beyond
himself. alone. he was himself, and nothing about that could be changed. I am myself, and no one else. That’s why we fell apart. That’s why it didn’t work. we were two different people.
He himself was a lonely man of lonely thoughts. She scattered his mind no where to be seen in the empty voice. If only she could hear. Aye me, he would cry. Woe is me. Why have you
He was not himself today. Something was…off. A subtle pain seemed to be housed in his chest, and he could not quite place its source. Random thoughts raced around his head, evil, masochistic thoughts. He didn’t even know if they were his, he didn’t think they were.
the Irish term for the master of the house. someone whom speaks about himself in the third person. Bob. Becker. opposite of herself. the elf. he himself and him he who loves himself can love others.
He only ever cared about himself. Always concerned with only what he wanted and what made him happy. So I gave up on him. Because one day, I got tired of his bullshit, of always forgiving him for being so selfish, and so that was the end of an epic friendship.
he didn’t even think about it. he stretched out his hand and jumped. if only he’d considered himself in the equation. things may have turned out better.