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How is it that some people are constantly happy? Even in their dark moments they seem well adjusted. Is it a farce?
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I kid, but I mean what I say. I pretend I’m lying, but I want you to take me seriously. I reach out my hand tentatively and snap it back quickly, but I want you to hold me in your arms. It’s so wrong, but you’re so right.
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What’s it like, having a secret life in your head that you cannot tell anyone about? What’s it like, having two faces? What’s it like, not knowing where you are or what you’ve become? What’s it like to not see what’s in front of you?
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So I tell him that I’m flattered because someone has paid attention to me. So he tells me that I’m stupid. Then he refuses to speak to me. I don’t want to be angry. I don’t want him to be angry. I don’t understand him. I don’t think I understand anything at all.
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What happened to me and you against the world? Now you’re with the world. Does that mean you’re against me? Am I as alone as I feel… or does that even matter? Who are you to say what I can and cannot do?
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Take me seriously because i’m joking. Pretend I’m joking when I’m serious. Look at me with those eyes again. Glance over your shoulder and smile at me. It’s what you should do.
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Starting today I will begin writing in the first person occasionally. Writing in the third person is too emotionally and mentally draining at times.
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She tries and she tries, but never to any avail. She cries and she cries, but still no result. She loves him but she never does anything right. She loves him but something is always wrong. Everything she says has a meaning she hasn’t seen. Everything she does is an insult she didnt make. Tears tears and more tears… but nothing.
