I remember when I was full of hopes and dreams, even though I had very little reason to sustain them, I’d reach out and hold onto them like snowflakes, each one unique and pure, and upon contact they’d melt and disappear. I used to dream of making all sorts of friends at school, instead, I became the weirdo nobody wanted to talk to. I can only safely say that I have two friends in this world, one of them I only talk to once or twice a week, and the other is family, so that doesn’t really count. Yes, despite my pathetic hopes of starting anew before going to college and rooming with three strangers, I’ve managed to keep my relationship with them just as warm or cool as the day I’ve met them. We parted ways as perfect strangers. And that, is really who I am, I suppose, a perfect stranger to all. I’d shake hands and smile, but my mind would go blank as I’d lose focus and forget what was said. Such a person can’t possibly make friends, yet that is precisely who I am. I dream while forgetting the present, never satisfied with what’s before me. Time is just an obstacle for me to hurdle over, while doing absolutely nothing with myself. I’ve tried to improve myself so many times in so many ways, but nothing seemed to click, I had to learn it the hard way – I was born with no talent at all. Even worse than that, I say I want friends, but in the event of one person actually extending a branch in friendship, it suddenly all became so daunting and meaningless to me, to the point where I bolt for the first available exit. I used to blame myself for all this cowardice and silliness, but now I’ve come to realize that this is simply who I was meant to be. How can one blame a person for acting out their predetermined nature? Can I be mad at a mole for not wanting to swim? And so I dig and dig into the dirt, disappearing from the world as I was designed, but not without my periodic spasms of nostalgic longing, it attacks me like an old wound of battle, that accursed piece of history buried deep into the core of my being which demands recognition every now and then. It is the lingering desire to be wanted by someone I admire, that indefinable transient someone, could be anyone really, if only for an honest moment in time between two strangers where I could receive that comforting warmth. I craved its existence no matter how deep the hole went and somewhere in the abyss I found Vermin, who took me in like a wounded bird, but instead of healing my hurt, he began to pluck out my feathers. I would be dead if it weren’t for him.

Best regards,

Grand Fuck Up Supreme