[Praises - TSW] Friends
I just want to make friends. Is that so wrong?
Even Jesus spent most of his time with sinners, so it’s okay, right? As long as I witness to them, anyway.
I don’t want to.
They’re wrong, but I’m wrong too. This stuff-this bee stuff-is in me now too. I can’t help it. I’ve tried. It’s like shoving a mess into the closet: soon as you fit one piece in, another falls back out.
I don’t know how much longer I can hide this. I didn’t do so well at home, but I was hoping it would be different here.
He said they could help me. Help me keep hidden, help me control it, so long as I helped them. I could pick up the phone, call in, ask-
For what? Help?
Pretty sure that would mark me as less than useful in their eyes. (Which are everywhere, I’ve got to do better at this.) I don’t know what they’d do then. I think…
I think I probably know too much to have a chance of seeing home again. I mean, I don’t know a lot. But I’ve seen their base, I have one of their phones. I know the signs to look for now. What’s the expression? If I left now, I’d leave wearing cement shoes.
That’s if I wanted to leave, anyway. I hate it here. The island, the town, the water-even the city was awful. The people aren’t much better. But there’s still something…
These people are smart. They know things. They see the world differently, in a twisty upside-down sort of way that somehow makes more sense than right side up. I want that. Chasing riddles, hunting down answers- it’s exciting. It makes me feel, I dunno. Powerful.
I won’t lie and say I don’t like it. That I don’t want more of that.
But first, making friends, right?
(They’ll come in handy later.)
Even Jesus spent most of his time with sinners, so it’s okay, right? As long as I witness to them, anyway.
I don’t want to.
They’re wrong, but I’m wrong too. This stuff-this bee stuff-is in me now too. I can’t help it. I’ve tried. It’s like shoving a mess into the closet: soon as you fit one piece in, another falls back out.
I don’t know how much longer I can hide this. I didn’t do so well at home, but I was hoping it would be different here.
He said they could help me. Help me keep hidden, help me control it, so long as I helped them. I could pick up the phone, call in, ask-
For what? Help?
Pretty sure that would mark me as less than useful in their eyes. (Which are everywhere, I’ve got to do better at this.) I don’t know what they’d do then. I think…
I think I probably know too much to have a chance of seeing home again. I mean, I don’t know a lot. But I’ve seen their base, I have one of their phones. I know the signs to look for now. What’s the expression? If I left now, I’d leave wearing cement shoes.
That’s if I wanted to leave, anyway. I hate it here. The island, the town, the water-even the city was awful. The people aren’t much better. But there’s still something…
These people are smart. They know things. They see the world differently, in a twisty upside-down sort of way that somehow makes more sense than right side up. I want that. Chasing riddles, hunting down answers- it’s exciting. It makes me feel, I dunno. Powerful.
I won’t lie and say I don’t like it. That I don’t want more of that.
But first, making friends, right?
(They’ll come in handy later.)