I stifled a yawn as he launched into a soliloquy. It was nice but odd. Nice but jading.He was nice, nonetheless.
Fine. I know he could help. He demonstrated himself as a striking inspiration to me, to everyone. How he owned his dream and pinned it to the core amidst everything and whatever standing in the way where he wanted to be in was actually cool. But it sounded too elite to me. Bluesky. Superficial. Unfriendly. Out of my league. He was nice, nonetheless.
But I just cannot. . . I mean, he was a good teller of tales albeit that’s one thing only. I was listening through him and through him alone, not necessarily to him. His words were too beautiful and too big to take in. Perharps he’s got the wavelenght opposite to mine. He was nice, nonetheless.
As he articulated his final points, I mumbled to myself, “It’s not you, it’s me!”
When you’re get caught between the lure of spoken lines and the pulchritude of aggregate of morphemes in black and white, the best that you can do is CHOOSE.
And so I came.Back. Never.