I called you and you said you were busy. Then, I saw you walk off your house, not alone. I was shocked. Like a masterful maestro, I composed a song of serenity for you. Like a soothsayer, I read your palms, and looked for the omens of imminent, unfortunate events, so that you could avoid them if they were coming, and you were unprepared. Like a nefarious magician, I solemnly cursed all your ugly nemeses, who never gave up backstabbing you, burning your highly maintained hair, stealing the candies from your locker, and of course, slandering you on a daily basis, like typical high school bitches. Like a soldier, like a warrior, and like the knight in shining armor, I unconditionally protected you. Like a very good friend, I always accompanied you. For God’s sake, my life was unfair. I got nothing from you, while you got everything from me.You ran and ran and ran. I was sure your final point was there, waiting loyally like a faithful, old wife wishing for her husband to come back from war in old classics, the Odyssey perhaps. I don’t know. You had your dreams and you always chased them. You lived to pursue them. The goblin of the past, the vampire of the future, and the zombie of the present would not run away from me, even if you ran far away, miles away, or years away from me, chasing your fantasized, long-dreamt, Lamborghini. The starlet of the moment- you. I was just a recurring cast, the unseen/forgettable/conventional one, for sure. You had a new movie and I was not even told about it. You didn’t even give me a free ticket. You didn't even personally ask me to buy one. Wait, what was I talking about? the movie ticket or me being your meal ticket? You judge.
The wonder woman of wishes died in me, passing the vicious virus of incurable flu to my vulnerable body, while the doctor of dreams lived in you, injecting some rapturous images of mega castles into your brain with his well-cleaned syringe. I was no one, while you are a celebrity, celebrated by all your fans, in your very own, one and only paracosm, which happened to become a reality, a tangible one of course, that you can be proud of.
Lovers, they relentlessly ran to you regardless of genders; males, females, bisexuals, hermaphrodites, gays, lesbians, and the undecided loved you, wanted to stay with you, yearned to sit next to you, ached to sleep tight next to you, and worked days and nights to be chosen as your future slaves. As stupid as they may seem, certainly, they knew what they were doing, always realized of your ugly sides but still wanted to be your very good friends, your BFFs, maybe, just to be cursed, just to be reprimanded, and just to be loathed by you. Like wtf. Didn’t these people have brains? Yeah, they did, but they just didn’t use them. The Analects, The Castle, and The Age of Reason, all were read for you, their ultimate “your Excellency.” You loved these people; you liked them liking you, but you hated them having you. You never wanted to stay at one point. You materialistically viewed them, like the way you did me. You had too much hatred in you, I guess.
Writing on the basis of whims could be disastrous, as it may produce rubbish, the unrecyclable type, obviously. However, this time, it did not disappoint me. I actually wrote a beautiful scripture. I actually carved a golden statue. A masterpiece made. Pride on me, shame on you.
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