This Poor Girl

It’s like she’s broken. It’s like she hates me. It’s like she’s jealous. It’s like it’s stupid. It’s like she isn’t able to understand her position. It’s like she doesn’t have the ability to reflect on herself. It’s like no one has the ability to reflect on themselves. It’s like I’m supposed to help her, but what am I supposed to do? It’s like the only metaphor I can compare it to is not a metaphor at all, it’s real. It’s like I’m over thinking it. It’s like the time I went to her house, and she and I laid on her bed together. It’s like her entire body needed another so she could feel like her un-disillusioned self. It’s like she knew what she was doing. It’s like she knew I would fall for her seduction. It’s like she was disappointed when I didn’t go as far as I knew I could have. It’s like a child wishing it could be treated seriously. It’s like I knew I could have done more, but I was worried that it would change me. It’s like the change was something that didn’t align with the character I had created for myself, and I wasn’t sure how my character was supposed to react to that kind of situation. It’s like I need to change my character. It’s like that, so I never have to be hesitant. It’s like that, so I can maybe do something quicker to make a greater change. It’s like that, so that people like her can be happy.


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