So...perhaps not everything is as I make out to be. And they don't know that.
They don't know much about me. A stranger would know more about me than they would ever care to know.
They think I'm like them. They think they understand me.
But I've come to realize that no one knows what's best for me. No one can ever know what's best for anybody. Because if that were true, then all would be well with the world. No one would be a screw up, no one would make mistakes if everyone knew what was best for everyone. But people want to be seen as wise, people want others to need them, yes. People like to give advice, people like to pretend to know everything about others. Why, for the singler purpose of being needed, of other people believing they care.
I have a problem with memory. I can only remember the things I care about, and a lot of the things I learn I don't care about. I guess that explains why I can remember pretty much everything people tell me about them. Well, only certain people, of course. But such is the nature of things, and I, I can't delve deeper into this. I can't delve deeper into the nature of nature. I won't try to interfere with it, or change it. I can only deal with it.
I wish I lived in a dimension where I was the only person alive. The only. The. Only.
And then I'd leave of course, because solitude can only last so long. Solitude is only temporary.
