Hiroshi wasn’t sure how he was going to respond to that, so he just nodded and sat down with a couple of books in his hands.
“Well, I know the feeling really. Sometimes people just don’t really like to talk to one another; which is sad, because sometimes it can end up meaning that you make great friends.” Hiroshi replied to the man’s ramble and tilted his head afterwards, “Do you want to talk to people or not?”
⇢ ☂ ⇠
“I always want to talk to people, it’s just… it’s usually that they don’t want to talk to me.” After all, who would want to talk to a guy that keeps his nose in a book all the time? Surely no one sane. “Do you think it’s my fault?” Oh yes, ask the stranger something he can’t really answer, that makes sense. Taking a small breath, he turned to pause, searching the other male’s face.
“If I had a nickel for every time some talked to me… I’d be nickel-less.” Ouch Eric, that’s a bit harsh. Though he wasn’t feeling the best lately so he’s decided to take it out on himself as opposed to others. Reading was strangely not cutting it.
I will write about the following, leave one in my ask box —{ Meme }—
Dear Best Friend,
Right now, you are nothing more than a book. Though I suppose that makes me sound pretty lonely. Go figure. One of these days I’m going to find someone I can indulge my love of books with, someone who can just… take me for me. It’s funny how I fit the stereotype: a nerd with no friends. Still, I’m going to get there someday. I was fortunate to go through my life without bullies just because I knew how to handle a syringe. I think, if I had a best friend, I would be able to tell them everything that goes on through my head. I’m nice, right? I try to be. Sometimes I wonder if I should just drop that whole attitude and become truly cynical. Then again, where would that get me? Being nice will get me friends in the future, like the person that should be reading this letter. I did have a best friend once. He was really nice, you know. A little young, but I couldn’t help myself, there was just so much going on and I happened to find myself following him everywhere. He died right before my eyes. I froze. It was like I didn’t know what to do with myself. I relapsed. Y’know, I always wanted to cut myself. The wrists were too easy to see and find out, so when I was alone I’d go into the bathroom with a steak knife and carve lines in my thighs. It looked so… so strange. Lines. Lines upon horizontal lines of red. Crimson. I would hope that with a best friend like you I’d be able to stop myself. There is no one to stop me right now. He’s gone, and you don’t exist.
