Lament.
Silly girls are everywhere. So are silly boys, in retrospect. I hate both of them. Where are the souls who love themselves, and who know what they want to feel and accomplish and test the limits of in their lifetimes? I can't be the only one, can I? Fuck, if so, this will be a depressing world for me to drudge through.
Youth spoils so many excellent people, although in turn I suppose it grants many of us the chance to see who we really are, and what we want to become. In the process though, people gravitate towards the puissance of the masses, which irritates those of us who are cognizant enough to notice what is happening, and how to prevent ourselves from falling into the black hole that the rest have created. It's like this big fucking trap, and if you never become a part of it, you have no chance at ever being truely happy, simply because others will stare down their dollar-bill clips and joints, scoffing and coughing and knowing that you're inadequate.
Of course, inadequacy is always relative to the individual. Which makes me realize: Why the fuck should I care? What deviant behavior would make me want to get off my lazy ass, drive to work, earn money so I can invest in capitalism once more, then proceed to the gym and work on my mortal shell, complete with WashBoard Abs(C) and a ticket to Hades?
A girl. I call her, email her, message her, try to set dates and times to see her. I spend hours of my day thinking and worrying about her and what I can do to improve my chances with her. I know why I do this, but I can't justify it anymore. She feigns interest, but I turn it into a golden shower of praise and good signs, when in reality I have been given a dusty cardboard box, full of old and useless tchockes.
Look here, an egg beater for the heart...
Futility mounts on my shoulders, and yet I press on, yearning for more simply because I'm "a romantic at heart." I don't even know what that means anymore. But I will keep going, keep asking her out, trying to give her subtle and quiet hints as to how much I want to deeply breathe in her scent and watch her get out of bed in the morning. I will do this because she has absorbed me, and totally ruined this whole post-mortem rebellion that I have begun to see.
She could ruin me any day. And I would love her for it.