More than anything, I'm afraid I won't belong anywhere, anymore.
For so long, you've been my reference point. A lying, unclear, deceptive reference point- but reference point, nonetheless.
You felt like home to me, though you were nothing more than a motel room at best. But atleast you were mine. Now, you're not.
I feel free. Free from the filth and false hope that was you, but also lost because it's hard to feel safe without even a lie to comfort yourself with.
I know this is best. I know you're too messed up to even accept help. I know you'll end in disaster with, or without me.
You could've been a beautiful person, and if you hadn't stabbed me every step of the way, I would've stayed to see you blossom into who you're supposed to be.
I feel sorry for people like you. I imagine you 30 years from now, still maintaining meaningless relationships, still lying to yourself and those around you, and slowly withering; knowing that those that started where you started, have grown out of this phase, and have moved on to have substantial lives. Lives that matter.
And you're still suck, trying to be cool, trying not to care. A complete mess. Except it will be too late to start fixing yourself.
I see you 30 years from now, and I cringe. You could've been so much more.
SO much more, without the hate from me and everyone else that you've killed a little bit, along the way.
I hope you grow up, for your own sake.
We will all find a way to be happy, and find someone we enjoy sharing our lives with.
I hope you do, too.
I'd hate to (but would also feel a strange sense of satisfaction to) know that you're a 50 year old man, staring at a wall and smoking pot, just because that is all you know. And you never quite figured out how to get your life back on track.
I wish I didn't and I feel ashamed admitting this to myself, but I really do hope you're miserable. Atleast long enough to realise where you went wrong, and to feel genuine remorse.
If only dreams came true. Either way, I'll never see you again, so it doesn't matter whether you learn your lesson or not.
The world doesn't seem particularly balanced anyway. So maybe you'll lead your life as a complete asshole and never bear the consequences of it. Which would also be fine because I wouldn't know the difference.
I wish there was a balance. An intrinsic justice system. Wouldn't the world be lovely if there was?
For so long, you've been my reference point. A lying, unclear, deceptive reference point- but reference point, nonetheless.
You felt like home to me, though you were nothing more than a motel room at best. But atleast you were mine. Now, you're not.
I feel free. Free from the filth and false hope that was you, but also lost because it's hard to feel safe without even a lie to comfort yourself with.
I know this is best. I know you're too messed up to even accept help. I know you'll end in disaster with, or without me.
You could've been a beautiful person, and if you hadn't stabbed me every step of the way, I would've stayed to see you blossom into who you're supposed to be.
I feel sorry for people like you. I imagine you 30 years from now, still maintaining meaningless relationships, still lying to yourself and those around you, and slowly withering; knowing that those that started where you started, have grown out of this phase, and have moved on to have substantial lives. Lives that matter.
And you're still suck, trying to be cool, trying not to care. A complete mess. Except it will be too late to start fixing yourself.
I see you 30 years from now, and I cringe. You could've been so much more.
SO much more, without the hate from me and everyone else that you've killed a little bit, along the way.
I hope you grow up, for your own sake.
We will all find a way to be happy, and find someone we enjoy sharing our lives with.
I hope you do, too.
I'd hate to (but would also feel a strange sense of satisfaction to) know that you're a 50 year old man, staring at a wall and smoking pot, just because that is all you know. And you never quite figured out how to get your life back on track.
I wish I didn't and I feel ashamed admitting this to myself, but I really do hope you're miserable. Atleast long enough to realise where you went wrong, and to feel genuine remorse.
If only dreams came true. Either way, I'll never see you again, so it doesn't matter whether you learn your lesson or not.
The world doesn't seem particularly balanced anyway. So maybe you'll lead your life as a complete asshole and never bear the consequences of it. Which would also be fine because I wouldn't know the difference.
I wish there was a balance. An intrinsic justice system. Wouldn't the world be lovely if there was?
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