When the rest of the world goes away; when I find myself on nights like this wondering whether it’s fate, whether it’s chance, whether it’s a just desert or whether this is simply me coming to terms with who I really am. I can be more honest with myself now, which is good because I have little aptitude and even less affinity for lies. I can process all the things that happened during an ephemeral era when the exchanges of words and actions meant so much more than they do now; I can view them through a lens of sobriety and the far remove of both time and distance. I also feel the relief of not having to pick and choose exactly what I say and don’t say in order to initiate and then cement just the right impression of myself in someone’s mind. Of all the things I intermittently miss, the game is not one of them.
To Be Forgetton