Against cynicism
if everyone's so clever am i missing something
A beautiful city and cynicism can kill a woman. Every day I read a lot of dumb things online. I can’t help myself.
I used to spend every Thursday alone and hide from those who told the truth. It’s not that I wasn’t ready to hear it, but it would’ve made me change my life around. And I preferred vaping on the couch. It was my wellness retreat. The pile of clothes tossed over the chair was growing, neglected on account of everything being claustrophobic, and though I had an empty closet and enough hangers to run a shop out of the studio, refusing to face anything beyond the immediate was a calmer way to die. I wore uncomfortable shoes and hung out with uncomfortable people. It caused blisters and distrust.
I had congeniality, but plans were still getting called off last minute. Boys. Friends. Vague parties. I always felt that people didn’t like me, and I was right about 75% of the time. It was a big secret I was holding close to my body, a stained inseam on trousers. It’s always better not to take these things to heart. I’d paint my nails green and walk around the city, preposterously dissatisfied. Green like emerald, like moss on a rainy rooftop. I’d heard green matches my zodiac sign. Taurus. We’re always described as boring and hungry and stubborn and good fucks. It wasn’t going to be easy to chisel something out of desiring nothing and going nowhere, so I decided to take a lot of planes and get familiar with the curriculum.
As a result of that I’d hardened on the edges. People loved it. They thought I was useful and rich when I was good at pretending everything came easy. They’d give me financial advice about the money I didn’t have. I’d nod. A girl once told me at a club she loved pursuing married men with ugly wives. You should try it. I nodded again because I was spineless. It made me feel dirty and so I scrubbed off every layer of cowardice together with my epidermis in the shower later that night. I felt the torment of every bright and ardent woman that grows up to be somebody’s ugly wife. My fate was closing in on me.