Why I didn't Sit with You Today.
I'm sure of it for one minute.
We will fall in love,
have 2.2 children
(it's a decent estimate, I think it's somewhere near average).
Because love is starting to make sense
and life makes sense now.
And finally I will fit in somewhere.
The next minute it's sickening.
To think that I would fall in love.
To think that i would get married and have
I already have hundreds of children, my fictional characters,
they're all I need
what's so special about this love?
The next it's insecurity.
She hasn't responded to my e-mails,
the seat left open next to her must be for her best friend
why save it for me?
Friends are forever,
but I am fleeting.
You realize that,
That I am leaving this world behind and
the strings holding me back are slowly breaking.
You're cutting them.
It's like you want me to go
by leaving a seat open next to you.
It's like you're telling me,
"I'm leaving this open to remind you that
there's no seat for you in
The next it's regret.
Maybe you left that seat open for a reason,
maybe you don't hate me.
Maybe you were hoping that I'd see the open seat and
now you're mad because I completely ignored it.
Maybe now you think that I value other friends more than you
because I sat with them.
And when a friend (with good intentions)
told me to sit with you I rejected the idea.
Maybe you heard that.
Maybe you're hurting.
The idea that a person could hurt over me is still foriegn.
(I'm still pretty shocked that anyone would ever want to be romantically involved with me.
My best friend confessed her feelings to me a week or so ago.
It scares me.
What could she possibly see in such a fleeting being?)
The next minute I'm rationalizing.
I'll all work out for the greater good.
Plus, you're not actually interested,
you told me yourself
(why I told my friend who had good intentions that I couldn't date you.
[Well, technically you said you were busy,
but I still take that as a , "not interested"]).
The next minute I'm caught in illusions.
So what if you're complicated?
If I get an S level relationship with Sully (I like to call her that. It's a name that suits her)
she's bound to marry me, (after I get far enough in the story)
even though I'm totally insane.
anyone who comes into a battle
excited to kill the undead (and boasting about where her spear is going to be stuck in their bodies) is pretty insane too.
Insanity to match mine.
Or the bubbly girl (whose name eludes me, because her name is always less important
than her dialogue, even when she's just complaining about having to eat bear meat
[I never really thought of names as that important of things, anyways].)
Life is simpler in my video game,
at least there I know how relationships work.
(If they fight together enough, they will fall in love.
Have a certain amount of children,
who can be unlocked in a very specific side quest.)
I've always held that the joy in life is in sponteniety,
the wonderful people that you meet.
All the while I'm rebelling against it.
People are as constantly changing as the phases of the moon,
I need constant,
I'd rather get on a train that won't let me die
than one that goes at thrilling speeds.
People are unpredictable.
Betrayal is always on their options list.
And sure, it's easy enough to trust friends with it.
Such a foriegn thing that my lips quiver
and my heart aches when I but think of it?
No. There is no room for such a thing,
it's unpredictable, chaotic, disasterous.
Love distracts people, and it makes them do crazy things,
sure, the human race needs it if we are to have sufficient reproduction
(Actually, that's arguable)
but they won't miss just one person from the gene pool.
And high-school won't miss just one person from the dating list.
And I won't miss just one emotion in a myriad of them.
So in conclusion, I didn't sit with you today because I felt
insufficient, worried, and doubtful of this thing we call love.
(Feeling is believing, after all, and I've never felt it,
so is it really real in the way I think of it?)
Not that the love really had anything to do with you,
I just happen to be always trying to figure it out.
The word that's always on my tongue,
but never spoken.