The closer to you I get,
the more miserable.
So willing to share yourself,
there is not room for me.
Am I really that unimportant?
I saw you look so happy.
I wasn't a part of it.
You were so kind and friendly.
Immediately your face dropped
when you came back to our
conversation.
Don't force the issue.
With you, it's like
banging against a brick wall.
You have to be so cocky.
It has to be your way.
There's no way to be normally
human,
your rules are: no
whiners, no promises,
no sympathy.
Why am I still here?
There you go.
You drive me mad.
I am irritated.
People are fascinated.
I would like to scream
but for the fact that
you fascinate me, too.
Oh hooray. It's your show
Again.
Look, you are holding court
Again.
Making everyone else
feel alone beloved
Again.
Here I am holding
the short end of the stick
Again.
Selfish, stupid me.
He's unhappy.
Let him enjoy his time
in the flower of good
public opinion, in the
warmth of strings-free
friendships--such small
sacrifices. Just smiles,
common experiences, small jokes.
No listening to the troubles
of people expecting sympathy.
Who are they to expect, anyway.
Implicit promises
are seldom solid, seldom followed.
There is no golden rule.
Coinciding tastes?
This is accident.
First odd, then interesting,
then commonplace--
hence dull.
Then questioned by outsiders.
What do they think
they know?
I exist.
I have existed before, like this,
somehow not quite like this.
Coincidence is not fate,
nor imitation.
I am angry.
What?....
Entrusted.
Never betraying
some confidences.
There are some lines of respect
worth keeping intact.
Preserve integrity, the
right to give oneself away,
autonomy and relief.
It is not our secret;
it is not our bond, it's okay,
distance is maintained.
Meanwhile, the jokes
wear thin and I annoy,
to my chagrin.
I should stop. I am
not trying to be cruel.
Please allow me to say
that I'm sorry.
Sympathy only
gets you so far,
said in big booming voice.
Shape up, show some
outward concern.
If you think I'm great,
tell me.
I'd like to know when
you're proud of me, thinking
of me, talking about me.
I know you do, sometimes.
Right?
I'd like to know when
you are angry with me.
How come we are
so much alike, so much on
different levels of equality?
Why do I/you continue to put
up with you/me?
We are so awful.
Do you understand me
as much as I understand you?
Is our likeness the key or
is it a deception? The
delusion of friendship,
only happenstance,
simple affection turned into
habit.
Well, there's a time to end everything.
Who is this person,
this me, when she
is with you?
And what will become of her
after the last time you meet her?
Never again, my friend.
Some things are meant to end.
And yet, there is no such thing
as fate.