Just Too Strange

In the end, it's really the books that cheers me up. I don't want or need to interact with people, I just need my books. It sounds depressing for some, but when the pressure from the outside world is just too much and then everything makes no sense, books straighten me out. Sometimes I wish I'm a spirit, where I can live in peoples mind, then maybe I can understand them. They are so tiresome. Why is it that people can't just live without expectations? Why is it not like in the books, where every actions have motives? Where everyone have reason for being what they are? Even I don't make sense to myself sometimes. Why I am like this now? Just what happened to me? I remember...well I saw my pictures when I was young, I was happy then. But as I get older, how come my smile vanished? I hate cameras now. I hate my pictures getting taken. I wonder too when that started because I know I didn't used to hate it. Since when did I begun to be possesive of the people I do understand? I don't like this development. Neither does my conscience...it's weird.