Today a coworker and I got to talking about our first loves, and what we remember about those moments the conversation evolved...
I don't feel any more.
I wander this world on as a shell, drifting from impulse to impulse searching for meaning, searching for something to care about, an empty shell without a hope, without a dream. I am drawn to movies where the lead uses force of will to overcome great odds, because I hope somehow, that I'll find that somewhere, at least a little bit.
Fact is, I'm weak and lazy. My penchant for mystery is only a defense, because if people were to discover the me that lies underneath they wouldn't stick around much longer.
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