In Los Angeles, California
In Los Angeles, California, I realize that it's not going to happen.
All the ways in which I think my life will be resolved...it's not going to happen. It's just impossible. There is no resolution. I'm not going to walk out of this. I am not going to build a plan and watch it come to fruition. I am not going to take baby steps towards a solution.
Because I don't know who I am. All I know is how to play games and bide my time.
I come into peoples lives and usurp a place of meaning. I accept a role that is unwittingly offered to me in goodwill. It's never mine to take, but I take it anyways.
I don't know why I do it. I really don't. I sit there, sipping on my drink, observing the going-ons in these peoples lives. I find the most instantaneous way to make it intimate, I find the weakest link and I make it my in. No one can stop me. I certainly won't stop myself.
I am the worst kind of person because I am so good at what I do. People take to me instantly. I exude some kind of warmth, some kind of ingratiating comfort.
One of these days I'm going to find myself alone, truly alone, with nothing but my memories of deceit. I'll deserve every minute of that deafening solitude. Maybe now it seems sexy and alluring and romantic and the kind of narrative that gets books sold and turned into movies. One day, however, when I'm older and my alluring warmth has died out, when no one is sticking around to figure me out anymore, I'll get what I deserve. Which is, ultimately, nothing. An empty, long, dark shadow of nothing.
All the ways in which I think my life will be resolved...it's not going to happen. It's just impossible. There is no resolution. I'm not going to walk out of this. I am not going to build a plan and watch it come to fruition. I am not going to take baby steps towards a solution.
Because I don't know who I am. All I know is how to play games and bide my time.
I come into peoples lives and usurp a place of meaning. I accept a role that is unwittingly offered to me in goodwill. It's never mine to take, but I take it anyways.
I don't know why I do it. I really don't. I sit there, sipping on my drink, observing the going-ons in these peoples lives. I find the most instantaneous way to make it intimate, I find the weakest link and I make it my in. No one can stop me. I certainly won't stop myself.
I am the worst kind of person because I am so good at what I do. People take to me instantly. I exude some kind of warmth, some kind of ingratiating comfort.
One of these days I'm going to find myself alone, truly alone, with nothing but my memories of deceit. I'll deserve every minute of that deafening solitude. Maybe now it seems sexy and alluring and romantic and the kind of narrative that gets books sold and turned into movies. One day, however, when I'm older and my alluring warmth has died out, when no one is sticking around to figure me out anymore, I'll get what I deserve. Which is, ultimately, nothing. An empty, long, dark shadow of nothing.