Let’s talk about something else for a minute. Let us finally think about that thing that doesn’t really bother us. Because from the second you wake up to the moment you put your head back down again, your thoughts are so predictable. They’re these personal things, things that we may not share, but understand. And when you think about all those people in the world and how much you want to unravel their masks, you wonder, really wonder, if the things that baffle you, baffle them. Makes you feel closer and farther. Makes you feel small and centered. You think of what you are, what you’d like to be, then what others are, and you realize that change is this simple bend of the knee and yet a difficult shattering of bones. How is that even possible? How is it that you play the guitar, but hate to sing? How is it that you love the beat of the drum, but hate to dance? Do others hate as you do? At what point do doorways of solitude transform into cemented walls of loneliness? You could climb them, those cement walls, lick the top of the corners as a fuck you and struggle to roll across, sprain your ankle on the way down, and limp your way to the finish line. Count insecurities. Avoid all opportunities where chance exists. Look towards the floor during those awkward moments. She moves closer to you and you think. You hate thinking until your regret slips from your fingertips on the way to your single room. With your posters, your bottles, your television set that you left turned on because no one else turned it off for you. Light a cigarette, a wish that death would come closer. Then in the morning, it starts again. Eyes open, thoughts pour out from them. You know this because people often ask you what’s on your mind. You think your eyes are too telling. Maybe it’s not the face, cause I think it’s pretty plain. The worry. The confusion. The hatred in the mirror.