Saturday, 29 July 2017

Please, Don't


If you ask me why I'm sad, I'll tell you some rainy story that sounds like it should've come from a Nicholas Sparks novel, or perhaps from an on-stage tragedy that got a bad review, but certainly not from the life of a young girl. 

If you ask me why I'm sad, I'll tell you a story about knights and kings and queens and jesters, as though the magic of medieval tales might make true the quests and dragons and deception that I recount as gospel.

If you ask me why I'm sad, I'll laugh in your face and tell you that I'm not sad, and that actually I'm just a little tired from staying up late the night before, having fun and being anything but sad, because no, truly, I'm not sad.

If you ask me why I'm sad, I'll look at you and wonder whether you already know the answer or whether you're just good at reading people or whether I'm not any good at acting or whether you'll be able to tell if I lie to you or whether I should just ignore you.

If you ask me why I'm sad, I'll ask myself why I'm sad, and I'll realize that I don't exactly know why I'm sad.

And that, I guess, makes me kind of sad.
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