A Celebration

I traded in my ticket stub for a pre-made dream. I traded it for an abstract view of normality. Keep me away from the congregations, show me the room for three. I rather the solace of solitude than trying to keep up with the masses.

The scene: a hot mess evaporates in the corner, ignoring familiar faces. He feels awkward around these supposed friends, longing for an escape. To escape those that frequent the life he left behind. Guilt devours him, comfort absent from the area.

The mind set: Eye contact would be the worst. Stop looking up, stop it. What do you want? To ignore or to embrace? Make a decision. No you don't have to talk to people, but eventually they will inquire what is "bothering" you. The alternative is forcing conversation. Both are unappealing. Stop looking up! Get a beverage, make a joke or two, use the bathroom every five minutes. Check for messages every twenty seconds. Keep yourself occupied in their presence. What is wrong with you?

So that is what the trade got me. That which resembles malaise, a feeling that everyone hates. To be out of place somewhere that is most welcoming. But it is too late now. I have made the decision to thrive my own way.