The Pretender

I wish I knew why it bothered me so badly, but I really think you have me pegged all wrong. I even watched it while it was happening in the circles that you kept, but I couldn’t intervene.  Now I trace my steps backwards in a one-sided story searching for clues.  What did I do wrong?  Maybe it wasn’t anything.  Maybe my suspicions are true, and the people you spend your time with have helped you form a tainted image of me.  Or maybe I really just hate being misunderstood. But maybe I do have it all wrong. Maybe you can really see me.  All of me.  But why can’t I just accept that and move on? There is nothing special about you.  There is no reason for me to feel at a loss here.  In this place there are people who often naturally hate one another, and for no reasons. Maybe that’s just it, but I can’t accept that so I must pretend.  I keep going about my day pretending that it doesn’t bother me, but I would be a complete liar if I told you that it doesn’t hurt a little.

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