Feels like something
That I’ve done before
I could fake it
But I still want more
Dissolved Girl – Massive Attack
It’s funny isn’t it? This is the second damn thing you’ve inspired me to start writing, and you didn’t even have to say anything. Well, maybe it’s not fall-off-the-chair-funny, but I’m willing to bet you’ll feel proud about it. Why, just think about the impression you’ve made on me, baby! 
You know, I hate you. It’s not that sort of raving lunacy hate, but I just freaking hate you. And I hate the fact that you’re smiling as you’re reading this. It’s just God-awful; it makes me feel stupid, but you’ve already done that so many times that it doesn’t really matter anymore.
I talk to people and I wish they knew what to say. I wish they could talk to me for hours without saying anything. I wish we could notice that it’s four o’clock in the morning, but stay up an extra hour saying goodbye. Oh, and if only they didn’t have to ask all those extra questions; why do people need answers and expect them?
How come they end conversations when they don’t get those answers? Honestly, now, where’s the damn fun in handing them everything on a plate? No one appreciates the chase anymore; it’s all about the yes/no and the straight answers and it just gets goddamn tiresome. Conversation is a dying art, but what the hell am I talking about? It’s the flirting that I really miss.
I tried that a couple of times recently and I swear it was like playing with children. The whole idea of clumsiness and inexperience can be amusing for a while, but there is one problem with whiles: they end. You know, they could just pretend to have a bit of initiative. A little, maybe?
That’s pretty much Social Guideline 1.2:
Pretending to know what you’re doing or talking about, will actually fool most people.
People are nice, but they’re not enough sometimes. Because sometimes, perfect is the only thing that will cut it. Maybe it’s just chemistry: conversational chemistry; a perfect one, at that. Or rather… it was. Or it is, but only once in a while; long whiles.
Do you think everyone’s wondering who I’m talking about? Actually, could you be wondering the same thing? Well, I guess you could always ask. And some of them, they know; some might ask; most won’t care, I think, because they wouldn’t even have gotten this far. But, again, that’s not the point, is it?
In case you ever do read this, I’d like to remind you that you’re the biggest ass I’ve… never met. Which is probably why I bear you the loving animosity that I do. That being said, I think there’s no need for any more questions between us; not regarding your identity at least.
The whole thing is just so hate-able. I hate that I’m sitting here, writing about half of nothing, I hate that I’ve ever wasted neurons on your ass and I hate being pathetic enough to actually press the publish button later. It’s stupid; useless; lame; you name it.
Or maybe it’s just me. OK, I’m tired now so let’s put an end to it. I hate you, I do, but… You know what?…
I miss you.
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