A letter to no one…

This is not where I belong...

 

 

Go ahead.

Trick yourself into believing that you know me.

Feel the satisfaction as you smirk and think to yourself, ‘I know exactly what’s on your mind right now.’

I’m perfectly ok with being misunderstood. I always have been, so why should it be any different with you.

Your interest in me is self-centered.

You energize on believing that you have unveiled my secrets; that you have uncovered the layers that make me who I am.

You energize on idolizing me and placing me on a pedestal where I don’t belong.

Let it be known that I DO belong on a pedestal, only it is not the one you chose for me.

Your interest in me is self-centered.

Your questions are seeking answers that will gratify your expectations, and not answers that portray the truth.

And, if truth is told, you will argue your way into making me say what will give you the same satisfaction that will allow you to smirk and think to yourself, ‘I knew you’d say that.’

Your inquiries about how my day was are not made because you want to know, but out of courtesy that will make you feel better about yourself and about telling me all about yours while receiving undivided attention.

Your interest in me is self-centered.

If it was genuine, you would’ve pursued them further when I deliberately gave you vague replies, but you settled for a “nothing” context that is equivalent to a grunt for a reply, or better yet, silence.

If it was genuine, you would’ve gotten in touch simply to ask how I was doing, and not only when you had something to say or share.

Your interest in me is self-centered.

You preach and pinpoint my flaws, magnifying them to painful extents.

You fuel on convincing yourself you are better than me at a particular thing, keeping in mind that you have idolized me and placed me on a pedestal where I don’t belong. Your defense mechanisms have tricked you into thinking you have conquered something, and you relish on the thought that you (think) you know this idol is just as ugly as you are.

You underestimate my intelligence and mistake my silence for ignorance.

My silence is my sound of reason. It is my sanity.

My silence is how I preserve my energy and avoid exhausting explanations to the misconceptions in your head. You don’t want to hear them anyway; you’ll just twist anything I say into something that makes sense to you and that gives you that smirk-worthy satisfaction.

My silence is how I contemplate on how complicated we humans really are.

My silence is my evidence to the uselessness of it all.

My silence is my best friend, and my worst enemy.

So be it.

Have your satisfaction and let your face contort with a satisfied smirk that makes you feel powerful.

Find satisfaction in creating a reality for me in your head that has nothing to do with reality.

Everyday, I love you less.

Everyday, I free myself a little of the power you have over me.

Everyday, I let go of the childish dream that there is someone out there who cares.

You prove that dream wrong with every sunrise but, don’t worry, you’re not alone. The human race shares that burden with you.

In reality, nobody cares.

 

 

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