I’m really not trying to get back into becoming one of the
selected few.
I just hate the idea of loss and traveling around with this
empty feeling inside me, knowing I’m missing something important but not
exactly what, or how whatever it is is supposed to fit into my life if at all.
I can’t help but think this was set up to fail from the
start, and I have become the product of a stalker-making machine that pops up
stalkers like cookies, each one of us in the same unsteady condition, a
syndrome that begs for eternal punishment.
I don’t even know why it bothers me since she clearly has
selected someone else.
Maybe it is because I see so much potential in her, not for
anything romantic so much, but a vast reservoir of talent I admire and envy,
and yet, maybe a little jealous of, too.
Maybe old Professor Thomas was right in his Freudian
interpretation of me – I keep going back to the same well, coming up with the
same drink of water, even after the first sip I know it doesn’t taste right.
Maybe I’m just stubborn, refusing to give in and let her
know how much she got under my skin, when I already know she knows, and I
already know I should walk away, surrender to the situation, and let the
distance between our two offices create the necessary barrier that will keep me
from making an ass of myself again.
If there is one thing I know I’m good at, it’s making an ass
of myself.
Somehow, in all this, I still need to survive.
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