I’m a force to be reckoned with. I’m a bright spot in a wasteland. I’m a star that shines bright in the desert. I am unsmoteable.
That’s how it begins every day. I wake up with ideas brimming in my head, bad ideas mostly. I tell myself that I will not waste this day, it’s very rare that I do honestly. I understand that this day isn’t a given, it could end right then, it could be my last day. I philosophize that this day is nothing, just a random point in time, time that’s bendable, time that’s mine to spend, like money. I love how people automatically think about entitlement when it comes to personal possessions, but not when it’s about their own time. I’m entitled to my time and this gives me the leisure to plan out my life the way I see fit. I do not want to be part of a patina of lies. I’m too much of an old soul to give a damn.
I, I can’t tell you how much I need you, because I do need you. I don’t need you because of those other things though, I need you because I like you. People don’t like people very often, and that is the bane of humanity. The inclement traits evolution never really wiped out. They don’t seem to wane either, they seem to be getting stronger even. But what am I supposed to do about it? Why do I feel like I need to bear the brunt of it? I’m a good person I suppose, that’s how I know it.
I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I feel good in my bones, despite the initial wretchedness that tormented my soul for a while. That wretchedness was part of my senescence, at least the beginning of it. I didn’t know how to live because I wasn’t raised for it. I was raised to be like you, and I didn’t like it. My soul was at loggerheads with my mind and my spirit weakened gradually. But something happened, like it always does, to untether me from the frigid bonds of normalcy. I don’t like being normal, normal is a burden, normal isn’t natural.
People are afraid of living because they are afraid of dying. The endless streams of possibilities and coincidences do not appeal to them because the obverse scares them shitless. I can only speak for those who aren’t afraid of living, because we’re the people who will never off ourselves when the tides turn and shit gets real. We’re the people that find joy in the tiniest of things. We’re the people who smile at beggars and pout at capitalists. We’re the people that make love like we mean it. We’re the people that find people objectively intriguing and we’re not afraid to get to know hordes of them. In short, we’re kind of cool.