Some writing (mostly fictional, but all good writing has a place in reality right?)
People don't even realize they're being mean anymore. I can hardly blame them. It must seem nice to them, I guess. I also suppose it should seem nice to me.
"Can you do this for me?" Of course I can. I even will do it for you. Is instead, "Can you please do this for me? PLEASSSEEE?" with an arm around me and a head on my shoulder.
They don't know my pain I suppose. That longing for any contact that is human is... beyond understanding really. It's been a long time since her.
I know I shouldn't be thinking about her. That was a long time ago... Months? No. Years ago. How many? I can't remember anymore. Too old I guess. The memory already fades. I guess that I just can't cut mustard anymore. Time to pack it all up and head home.
They must all miss the pained looks, or years of practice lets me hide them too well. Always strong, always confident. Cock of the walk, even when I didn't know where to walk to.
Then there was her. Perfect. But then again, aren't they all? Everyone is perfect until you have them, and again when you've lost them. It's while you've got them that you have to accept imperfection. It's hard... It's hard...
Hmm? Oh shit. I missed something the boss said.
"Yessir, I'll do that."
Doesn't matter what he said. He'll not check on it anyway, and if he does... I must have misheard. Me? Daydream, sir? Never.
How many days have I had these same thoughts. Different people around me and the same thoughts in my head. Did it even matter anymore? Did it matter who the girl was that showed affection and triggered these thoughts? I suppose not... It always ends the same. I go home, open a bottle, I drink and cry her name over and over, then pass out and do it again the next day...
Perhaps I'm only mean to myself...
It's been a long time since I've really written. Be kind.
People don't even realize they're being mean anymore. I can hardly blame them. It must seem nice to them, I guess. I also suppose it should seem nice to me.
"Can you do this for me?" Of course I can. I even will do it for you. Is instead, "Can you please do this for me? PLEASSSEEE?" with an arm around me and a head on my shoulder.
They don't know my pain I suppose. That longing for any contact that is human is... beyond understanding really. It's been a long time since her.
I know I shouldn't be thinking about her. That was a long time ago... Months? No. Years ago. How many? I can't remember anymore. Too old I guess. The memory already fades. I guess that I just can't cut mustard anymore. Time to pack it all up and head home.
They must all miss the pained looks, or years of practice lets me hide them too well. Always strong, always confident. Cock of the walk, even when I didn't know where to walk to.
Then there was her. Perfect. But then again, aren't they all? Everyone is perfect until you have them, and again when you've lost them. It's while you've got them that you have to accept imperfection. It's hard... It's hard...
Hmm? Oh shit. I missed something the boss said.
"Yessir, I'll do that."
Doesn't matter what he said. He'll not check on it anyway, and if he does... I must have misheard. Me? Daydream, sir? Never.
How many days have I had these same thoughts. Different people around me and the same thoughts in my head. Did it even matter anymore? Did it matter who the girl was that showed affection and triggered these thoughts? I suppose not... It always ends the same. I go home, open a bottle, I drink and cry her name over and over, then pass out and do it again the next day...
Perhaps I'm only mean to myself...
It's been a long time since I've really written. Be kind.
He's still alive. Every time I tell someone what the runes spell, they assume my dad's wrung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible or something. But he's my best friend, so...