What was wrong with me? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I couldn’t tell you what was wrong with me any more than you could tell me what was wrong with a cat.
If there was anything wrong at all.
I would like to say that I’m just like everyone else.
That I’m not this fuckup that keeps failing at everything I do.
That I’ve done something in my life that I could be proud of.
But no, I can’t say that because that would be a lie. And I don’t like lying.
I don’t know why I’m like this.
I don’t want to be like this but this is who I am, and I will have to accept that.
I will have to come to terms with that.
It’s in my nature to be like this, just like it’s in the cat’s nature to be an asshole.
I want to change. I say that I want to change, but I don’t do anything to change.
I guess that means that I don’t really want to change.
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Categories: flash fiction