I suppose everyone has thought themselves uniquely brilliant at one point or other in their youth. Yet daily now I see those illusions debunked and refuted. In each cryptic line and dispairing tone. Maybe I'm seeing the ghost of me that isn't present in these lives yet it is unsettling. We are aren't that different, yet unique enough to draw blanks upon scrutiny.
These lives, these people. Do I really know who, or what I'm talking to? What manner of humanity, with all it's liabilities, quirks and nuances are they which have eluded my notice?
Just when I was beginning to feel like I've settled my debts and left the past behind me. Just what are you?
Quote of e post:
Why do you do this to me
Why do you do this so easily
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