Take a long line

Sometimes I fall into the trap of not knowing my own mind, after all this time.

I’ve found myself so intertwined and enmeshed in the personalities of others that I think I like what they like.  Their friends should be my friends.  Their interests should be mine.
And yet I find myself increasingly unsettled.  If these people are my friends, why are they not acting like it?  Because they don’t know?  They don’t know we should be friends?
Why did I convince myself for years that I liked cheesecake?  Because someone I admired and wanted to be close to liked cheesecake.  Why do I insist on creating worlds that aren’t real?  Why must I contrive circumstances that are false and then find myself disappointed when the facade falls away?

Why am I projecting my desires onto people who are only people?  Why do I continue on the rollercoaster of expectation, disappointment and acceptance?  Like a ride at the fair in a nightmare.  I don’t want to get on.  I have no choice.

How strange this thing is that I have done.

Advertisements

See my friends.

I’m not a good friend.

I don’t know how to be.

Sometimes I see acquaintances smiling at me, uncertain.

Like I’m a simpleton, or a fragile egg.

“Do you even want to be here?”  “Are we an inconvenience?”

 
No, that’s not it.

It’s just that I’m just pretty certain you don’t like me.

And I don’t want to waste your time.