Monologue on Catharsis

Deciding whether you were a coward or a saint never gets me somewhere solid. I think I would like you to know me now while I simultaneously think that I would not. It is painful, how much of a contradiction I appear to be to myself. There is much I would like to tell you. Where should I begin? I have finished a novel that made me sad. I am sure you would find some of yourself in it. Some things do that to people, reveal who they are without warning or consent. I forget how to ask for help. Saint. Oftentimes I do not know how to tell people I would do better to be alone. I am not sounding like myself. It isn’t my fault. I get this way when I have consumed art. I like that I get to feel like somebody else while still being me. It is just another contradiction I get to exist as. I am struggling to convince myself that I am stronger than my desires. It’s hard because I feel weak everytime I think about you. Coward. I am so used to turning against reason simply for the sake of doing that I don’t believe myself. I am going insane probably. There is a tennis match going on in my mind and I am both opponents. My imagination tells me there is nothing I can’t do alone. Reality is different. When I do the things we were meant to do together, I am thinking of you. There is no point in me having done them at all. You are there the entire time. I do not know what I want to say to you. But I am heavy and I am sad and to me, you are always there. Saint. An option I'm never quite allowed to choose out loud. Did you text me because you are lonely. I am scared to say, afraid I will offend you or it will be true. I use a lot of I’s. Maybe it is because selfishness possesses me. Have you noticed that although I circle back to you often, I am never able to stay for long? Coward. I forget if I am speaking of you or of me. 


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