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Why am I so scared of another’s brutal honesty?
Is it because it see through my thought out facade
That shelters my insecurity and my callous indecision?
If only emotions were as simple as black & white
I would’ve been certain if it were so
It’s really hard to look forward
Once you’ve built your life
Around something that you believe is special
And at the same time being so comfortable
With what you have at present
So here I am wishing that I’d be as conversationally
Fluent as Ethan Hawke in the movie Before Sunset
And as youthfully profound as Fred Savage
In the sitcom the Wonder Years
Or as charming as the combination
Of Parker Lewis and Holden Caulfield
Instead I’d be ordering coffee
Specifically instructing the barista
That I’d like to have it black like my heart
For never has there been a story of more woe
Than falling prey to the perplexities of life
And the complexity of looking forward to what’s beyond
Like chasing after ghost of good times
And pondering hints, allegations and things left unsaid
In this wee quest for redemption from confusion.
Now why am I so scarred?
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