You wish they would say no, you hope to be spurned, to be turned away. They, the famous ubiquitous They, the powerful ones who hold the locks and the keys. You know them, the ones that you ask, that you pray to and exhort with your constant biting longings and with your words and ways you walk.

A yes would be too much for you when you come from a place where they are so few and so precious. You want a no so that you can convince yourself that, yes, you are right, that it is not your fault, that it is someone else’s doing that you are where you are, where you find yourself, that it, whatever your “it” is, is too hard, that there is no time.

You ask yourself how badly you want it and you tell yourself that you want it badly. But, do you? Do you really? You know you don’t, not as badly as you make it out to seem when you tell your friends and your family how much you want it and when you worry yourself incessantly, pulling at the threads of your fantasies hoping to unravel some deeper truth, some mystique in your circumstances.

If you wanted it that much, why are you still thinking about it, why haven’t you done something about it, taken even a halting step, a clumsy one?

You know you are lying to yourself and it feels wonderful to not have to confront the monster in the mirror, to be blind to your flaws, warm in your procrastination. Your lukewarm desire is a narcotic to what you think is your inherent ambition but what are actually the whispers of a world that has quietly molded you into this.

Even as the thoughts that the road is running out and time is not your friend pace back and forth in your mind, digging a groove into your conscience, you persist, your own masochist. Otherwise, why would you keep doing this, delaying this, whatever your “this” is?

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