If my experience is anything to go by, there are two types of people in the world.
Type One: Those who know what they want and go after it;
and
Type Two: Those who go mess it up for the rest of us.
Care to guess which of the two I've had more experiences with?
There's probably a hell of a lot of trash talk going around about me right now, trying to change opinions and even create them. It would almost be funny if it weren't so unbelievably pathetic.
Do people think I can't really see what's going on here?
Anyway. So these people want to get their clutches on the people and things you hold dear. Fine. If they want those people now, they can have them. They can twist their minds in whatever way they want, because it doesn't matter anymore.
But there are some people you just see as non-negotiable - people who care about you too much to fall prey to any devious plotting on the part of the Type Twos of life. The way these people act is hardly a surprise - after all, they've always wanted whatever Type Ones like me have.
But the way the supposed "non-negotiables" have been acting is like a slap in the face. Doesn't the word "friendship" mean ANYTHING anymore? The Type Twos appear to have put the "non-negotiables" on some kind of short leash, and they don't even see it.
Yet for some reason, while the Type Ones go after something, it's the Type Twos that end up actually getting those things.
Makes the Type One wonder if it was worth it at all - any of it.
Whatever, I've got enough to deal with.
I really don't need this crap right now.
Me
- BeautyInTheBreakdown *
- Boston, Massachussetts, United States
- I'm not limited to the blank canvas I was born as. My life is an eclectic melange of vivid colour. I float in a sea of multifarious musings, ranging from worlds of lime green skies and copper stars to winged objects and fairy dust. I am the flirtatiousness of cherry chap-stick, the depths of the cerulean ocean and the violet skies of Monet. I am the brooding dark green of dense foliage, the crimson tint in a blushing girl’s cheeks; the purple of bruised limbs. The complexity of my thoughts keeps evolving, I grow and shrink alternately. I cannot be contained or restrained. The French language is my drug and acne is my worst enemy. I laugh a little too much and am a romantic in the extreme sense. I’m likely to steal the stars from the sky, but my aims remain grounded in reality. I can’t be pigeonholed into a single stereotype, because all labels apply to me at different points in time.
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