With me, it is just the same.
I cannot bring myself to be a party goer. I cannot bring myself to be a wage-slave. I cannot bring myself to the levels of some of my peers, where their priorities range from inevitable alcoholism to fraudulent dreams. Call me stubborn, call me a hermit, but like the moon, I shine, or pale, to certain groups of humans.
The world flows and etches itself in time, but I still stick to my own rules, refusing to change. Perhaps my life has been nothing more than a battered stage, and I am tired of acting, tired of changing and tired of putting my trust on humans whose lives have been figured and secured for them the moment they are born. I do not have the luxury of the fortunate ones, where friendships and kinship are both one and the same.
The moon changes the tides of the sea, and the hearts of the living. I am, however, not the moon that all of you have been seeking. I destroy and disrupt lives of every human and living thing I come in contact with, a burning star that keeps on shining and flaring itself through the night.
Reaching out to me? You might as well be reaching out to the moons above.
I am dead inside, and no stars would shine upon my walking carcass.
