sore feet, sore loser, same banana
Sunday, August 5, 2007
At the end of it all, who weeps and cries for the soul of the villain?
Green lights flashed before my eyes, for the slightest moment, and it caused me to avert my gaze from condescending eyes. Hard as it is, I lost the glaring match, and I can't help but control the muscles to pull my lips into a dry, and rather fake, I might add, smile. I have the will and the mind power to ignore the petty jabs and attempts at my person, but not this. Not this. And therefore, I am weak. Simply put, I lost.
But how I wish I could change it, even just draw me back to the time when I really didn't give a damn. I could look at people in the eyes, with an awfully sweet and ignorant smile of a child, but inlaid with the spurts of befuddlement that is puberty. Hell, even then, I was really ignorant of everything around me that, in the course of my hellish life, realizations did not sink in as they normally would. Chocolates are always the best therapy for the bored mind.
Hate. It was an impeccable thing for people. But, to an amazing degree, I never had to relate anything to the word, to any degree, to any possible manner. Or at least, I used to. I love everyone - family, friends, strangers. Love did not carry the slightest tinge of eroticism, inhibitions, maliciousness - it was all goody-two-shoes type of love. I could say I love you, without even really caring the ramifications it could possibly create. Ignorance truly is bliss. And so are underlying psychological disturbances in my brain.
Hi. Let's shake hands. What's your name? I'm wachamacallit. I know, you probably don't care, and I wouldn't really too, but this is me trying to correct my inherent stupidity, so yeah, Hi. Maybe a few years from now, I'd like to be your friend. Even best friend. Whatever. I look like a pathetic, needy, social climbing git now, don't I? Never you mind. I have my ways. Actually, if this doesn't go as smoothly as planned, or doesn't even end the way I would like to, I'd like you to hate me for that reason - me being a bratty schoolboy, with grave hunger to get into the inner circle. Because social outcast, I can handle, but a rejection, a rejection from those condescending eyes, and I'll break, not into a dramatic million pieces of tears and whatnot, but simply into two - with my head severed, and my heart amiss. Yes, it's suicide. Or I manipulated someone to murder me, in a very morbid and explicit manner.
But should it all go well, then I'll be happy enough to look back. Shyly, I might add. I'm not trying to be cute, I'm not trying to be a clueless moron, but I am happy, right here, opposite the chair your sitting at, and babbling away about the day's embarrassing highlights, including that time (few seconds ago?) I stained my shirt with coffee because I was, as you said, "spaced out" - though in reality, I was really swimming in those warm eyes, the same eyes that saw right through me, and told me just the right words when I needed it. But I really wouldn't say that outloud, 'cause really, I'm not trying to be cute, I'm not trying to be a clueless moron, I'm just happy, right here, with you, following my every hand gesture with slight humor, but still with lingering warmth. Friends, best friends, whatever.
It's all I ask for.
I write without much enthusiasm,
We all write our own endings, whether they be happy or otherwise.
And all I got was
Time takes it all whether you want it to or not, time takes it all.
Time bares it away, and in the end there is only darkness.
Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.
smiled at the sun again @ 10:04 PM,
