She tried to fuck me because she thought I was gay.
Turns out, I wasn't attracted to her, so I guess that didn't help clear things up.
I'm better at convincing people I've barely met to travel thousands of miles to be with me for a week,
than I am at being worth it for more than a couple of months.
I want to relate to people without changing for them.
Performance is dangerous. "I am important", the performer cries, simply by standing in front of you.
This cannot be subverted. I sure as hell haven't, anyway.
 I'm just a lie, a paradox. I want you to know that. I crave nullification, more than I want to feel good.
Maybe nullification feels good. Maybe I shouldn't have drank that much that night we talked.
Maybe if I pour all of myself into building a playlist of movies, music, books, and other amalgamations of other peoples' passion that I identify with, I can just give that to everyone I meet and slowly form this supergroup of likeminded people. Is it fucked up that that seems like my best bet at connecting with people? The more you know, the more you are aware of the vastness of what you don't know.
The more you know, the harder it is to find the right words.
The more you know, the more grating bullshit platitudes feel like... so I guess I'm sorry.
The opening line was supposed to be a kind of palate cleanser. It really did happen to me, though. I miss her.