Maybe I don’t want love.
Maybe I don’t wish to be loved.
Maybe I don’t want the love of a man. Maybe it gets boring after a while. Maybe I want my life back, on my terms.
Would I prefer a familiar hell over an unknown heaven?
I need a drink.
Two teenage girls strode around in dark hoodies and baggy pants. They reminded me of a cousin who has cut contact with me. Or me with her? I can’t quite remember. Something, sometimes, anger and pride got in the way. They always did. Some insults that could never be taken back. And bam, two sisters who never spoke to each other again.
Good riddance. I think.
My brooding, dashing man. You will be no different from me if I drop you into a meaningless world. At best, you’ll be a flickering light, never truly living up to your potential.
But we always have a choice, don’t we?
I wish to drink. With nobody but myself. I hate the talks, the insecurities, the old demons. The loud egos. The vileness.