incredulous/ credibility

Listen to yourself. This escalating level of self-deprecation is all too disconcerting. To rally against fate with her supposed transgressions is a grave misunderstanding of what she truly has conspired to afford you. Do not presume that just because solitude has been your longstanding companion that there were no attempts on her part to bring you positive syzygies. Lest you assume that the emotionality your portray is meant to mask a deeper, grander scheme, then I must abide by this charade you play.

To profess a depressive state, and claim it as a curse, a purgatorial spite that seeps osteorotically corroborates the possibility that you have been nothing more than entertaining your own brand of melancholia. Do not perceive the lack of candidates as an absolute betrayal from the cosmos, or an abandonment of cupid. Your are Pygmalion, whose adoration seeks the image of an idea, a conception. An ardor towards an intangible, an unattainable equilibrium that cannot be resolved. Precisely because you choose to wallow in your own filth, the dankness of solitary saunters that leads only to self-awared condemnation of love and all its potential translations and trajectories.

Someone did try, and reached out. And you, of all, know this, or at least was made aware of it. But you chose to reject the fruit that was offered, only because you find it too bland, humdrum, mediocre to the taste you prefer. We are all capable of rejection. Of acting out our discretion to discriminating lengths. I do not blame you, free will warrants this. But to say that fate has been uncooperative, and cynically consume your consciousness with this thought, is to pretend that noone, or nothing, came along to implore you to accept otherwise.

That is not the case.

I am not here to preach, or to assert some wisdom culled from the narrative of experiences. I am here to offer an opinion, an alternative, to the convictions you sell. It is not against you as a person, but to the surreptitious state of self-flagellation that is becoming apparent, brewing and bubbling into the phenotype of hypergraphia.

Incredulity leads to jadedness. Believing that you are a certain way, or that matters are of a certain nature, condemns you to accept it as fact. A myopia that can also cause an alienation of what fate may have been, possibly, weaving for you. But fact is different from fantasy, and emotion is non sequitur to elucidation, desperation spawns disbelief.

Listen to yourself. You are as much capable of inflicting the same pain you have encountered. We are all, after all, beings of choice. And action, despite our logical masquerading, is the yardstick of our valuation.


Image from here.