struggles of dorian gray

I haven't written in here for a while, mainly because...I don't know. There isn't much turmoil in my life right now. And my writing preys on diseased emotions best, is that a little twisted? Happiness, contentment, guilt, they all breed a lot of silence, though the last is easiest to spell out.

So let's talk about guilt. Let's talk about all the times you swore you'd never be a certain way. That's for the shallow and the ones who believe in fairy tales. But you know so much better, and you are much much superior, and you'd be above it all, you swore and swore and swore to yourself, wearing that half invisible sandwich board of self-righteousness proudly.

It's like when you watch a movie and the moment before the hero shows up, no one stands up to do the brave thing at all, and you think, I would do that. I would stand up from behind that chair. I would beat that guy in the red cape to it. But then, if you take a little longer to think about it instead of getting caught up in the sweeping entrance of Clark Kent, you begin to doubt you'd ever straighten your spine at all.

This is what most guilt-ridden things boil down to. Bravery, none of it, not enough of it, not the right kind of it. Breathe, Pause, Exhale, Drop the second person mask now.

I am not brave enough to do it, I fear how it would look, how the silent judgments of each and every stranger would gush out from their eyes, how the monstrosity of the shallow masses would tower over me. I'm too afraid to face it all. And here's the truly twisted thing. I know with certainty this cowering will age into a regret, because hey, I don't believe in fairy tales like them, and I know Clark ain't coming. But I stay behind that chair anyway. Regret is a much more familiar enemy than the masses. And so a much more tolerable one.

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