i do not like his writing when he writes. i will never dare to tell him now. not because i am afraid it will damage his ego, or because it will hurt his feelings, because the time for such qualms should have passed a long time ago. no, it is because i do not dare to say something that might be tinged with spite. save me from ever being spiteful, dear.
how easily the affectation of affection leads us to be untrue! and how fragile the ego of a writer! how did i escape that flaw that will hate all those who do not appreciate my writing, when i cannot separate myself from it if i tried? perhaps it is because i do not even have enough ego to hate those who do not appreciate my self.
how many ever times you ask them, they rarely see until it is far too late exactly how much company means to you. how, how, how could he not have known? no dearth of signs, surely?
i think, perhaps, it has passed the point of no return without my noticing.
i do not know if i will ever think of him as a friend now. i, who would even suffer discomfort for the people i deemed friends. he will not know, which is not altogether a bad thing. it is easier to stop caring about someone when you cannot convince yourself of their compassion.
what bothers me the most, perhaps, is fact that my intuition seems to grow worse every passing year. am i that poor a judge of character? do i only choose to love people who are not worthy of my love? or is it that it my love that is not worthy, or not right, or not of the kind that will ever find someone worthy? or is it just that i am a person nobody else can stand to put up with beyond the largest of boundaries?
dangerous questions, all. answers yes are the reason it takes twice as much effort to keep the smile on my face now. oh, it hurts to be so alone in my head.
how easily the affectation of affection leads us to be untrue! and how fragile the ego of a writer! how did i escape that flaw that will hate all those who do not appreciate my writing, when i cannot separate myself from it if i tried? perhaps it is because i do not even have enough ego to hate those who do not appreciate my self.
how many ever times you ask them, they rarely see until it is far too late exactly how much company means to you. how, how, how could he not have known? no dearth of signs, surely?
i think, perhaps, it has passed the point of no return without my noticing.
i do not know if i will ever think of him as a friend now. i, who would even suffer discomfort for the people i deemed friends. he will not know, which is not altogether a bad thing. it is easier to stop caring about someone when you cannot convince yourself of their compassion.
what bothers me the most, perhaps, is fact that my intuition seems to grow worse every passing year. am i that poor a judge of character? do i only choose to love people who are not worthy of my love? or is it that it my love that is not worthy, or not right, or not of the kind that will ever find someone worthy? or is it just that i am a person nobody else can stand to put up with beyond the largest of boundaries?
dangerous questions, all. answers yes are the reason it takes twice as much effort to keep the smile on my face now. oh, it hurts to be so alone in my head.
1 comment:
because because because
^_^ pretty!
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