Reaction Time

 

        No one ever accused me of being smart. Being highly intelligent maybe, but never smart. Because I’m not. I’m intelligent but as dumb as a brick wall when it comes to things like this. She told me so. So did she. My own mother told me so. I’m as smart as a pile of bricks when it comes to emotion.

        Jesus Christ, has it ever occurred to you that maybe because I don’t want to be?

        I don’t want to understand why. I don’t want to know that you cry. I don’t want to know WHY you cry. I don’t have to have to know that you cry. Maybe for me. Maybe about me. Maybe BECAUSE of me. Maybe not.

        Call me bitter. Call me cold. Call me a fucking stupid idiot and I’ll probably just snort at your general direction. But for Gawds sake, don’t call me emotional.

        Because you guys never realized that I am. I am I am I am. Unfortunately. Totally. Madly.

        Because I get destroyed with every single teardrop that falls from all of your faces, teardrops I caused you to shed and could not wipe away. Because I fall into darkness every time I read something that is supposed to be me and I could not understand why it is written that way.        (There should be an idiot’s guide to falling in love. The first tip should be not to fall in love with a writer.) Because there is a madness in me that whispers in my ears when I realize that

        I

        Fell

        In

        Love

        Boom. Just. Like. That.

        And to think, this is coming from a person who’s stupid about emotions. A person who’s so stupid, I just realized that I did.

        Slow Reaction time.