and clink. the ice in my glass sings. a soliloquy no less. but no more.
Today at dinner all we talked about was how terrible celebrities were. This, after dismantling my entire life before I go live it. The chit chat complemented by the rich smell of alcohol was enjoyable but I can’t help but think there should be more things to talk about than television and education. Six months without Netflix and I still find myself glued to alternative time wasters, complacency at its finest. I’d have so many memories to share if I laid them all out in a line but I never find the right time to describe how silly God’s design is. Memories are meant to make us smile, but I have a somber look in my eyes even when I smile. A picture tells no lies and I am a walking paradox. I contradict even the simplest sincerities since I know how scary life can be. In other words, I am ugly. You might not find any problems with me, but believe me, you are too nice. I ruined a small portion of a good woman’s life by being so excited about Turkish Delights. Why do I seem so negative when the right word is introspective? I suppose deep thinkers must die of cancer quicker and earlier than problem drinkers who don’t acknowledge their suppositions. One of the worst things I ever heard was someone asking my approval of someone whose own success was non-existent. I did it once. “LOOK AT WHAT I DID,” I said, and I could feel the dread of nobody caring. It is a hollow chagrin and anyone can tell that the perpetrator deeply second-guesses themselves and has nothing noteworthy worth observing.
Ben Bonkoske 