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Free Writing - Take 47

I always laughed as a child when someone would say "read between the lines." It always sounded so silly. As an adult, I can't stand cliches, sappy metaphors and overused catchphrases. I think that is my daily struggle. My educated friends have mastered reading, even skewing the lines, but true intelligence is all about viewing what lies between. Not metaphorically, but literally. Today I saw a very long post, filled with self righteousness and pride. The likes piled up and comments of support came from many, especially family members. I sat and read, then read again and again. I read until the lines no longer mattered and what was between them shined through. Apology, guilt, excuses for not being the person one wants to appear to be. A fake, fixing his mask like it's Halloween. The facade is well known and well documented. The chuckles come from all sides, even those closest. So many who are quick to judge also fall victim to the charms of those who seem so sincere. I scroll down, to the innocently aloof. The one who needs so many answers to life's such arduous questions. The help comes in the form of support, relief, answers to questions where the answer isn't only known, but the next step has already been taken. The trap has already been set. The victims already known.  All a game, to feed that ravenous appetite for attention.  Scroll even further to find the philosophical damsel in distress. One night alone and her loins ache to be touched, but we all know, should one ever attempt such a frivolous act, the scene turns one of vulnerability. The pleading to be taken, quickly turn into accusations of use. Not abuse mind you, but use; friendship that has crossed a line that was never there to begin with.  They once were spoken, but now they are printed for all to see. The hope is not to snare one in her trap, but to get as many as possible. To parade around, like worthless dogs, to fulfill some twisted emotion where love is supposed to be. Who knows why we bother. Or maybe I shouldn't assume that it is a bother for others. Maybe they all share these desires, to be liked, to be noticed, to be admired, for everything they are not. I drift, away. Two hundred plus miles, so often returning to compete in this game I despise, only now, I quit.

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