*a drunk conversation to myself while listening to Nothing New on repete*
I’ve had too much to drink tonight.
I feel replaceable. I feel like nothing I do is adequate for attention. Whatever I do that I think do understand, had already been done. I think I’m nothing new.
Everyone has such strong options, but I don’t fully believe or think anything. I’m entirely unoriginal. I take things in from what I have learned or experienced, but it’s already been done. Everything that I think or have thought already exists. There is no new.
I am not strong. I am not new. I am nothing. Nothing of consequence. Each thing in the world is only a reference to earlier work.
No one knows the real me — no one knows the thoughts I have, or the fact that I think they are entirely uninteresting. People see people, but don’t understand them. They don’t know what we actually think. We have our fun getting to know each other, without the burdened of ever actually recognizing what we are. Roll your eyes while I fake my smile. You want to think that I am interesting —while it benefits you — but once you get close you leave. When I myself recognize someone similar I pretend to don’t understand them at all. No matter how poorly I think of myself, I cannot give up this facade. I cannot stop myself from trying to act like I know my friends, siblings, advisors. I know nothing. We never do. No one can truly know me, and in turn, I can never know them. We are condemned to our individuality.
But will I be missed at all? I’m simply a reproduction — a false attempt at nuance. But will you miss me when I’m gone? Would I even make a difference? And would it even matter?
My cheeks are tired from fake smiles and mindless tears. They are pointless — repetitive in the context of the wold. I am small and nothing.
