i will obey you

i am a terrible friend. i get all caught up in my own moments, the wonderful and the lonely; i find it so terribly hard to notice other people. there is an ocean between us but that doesn't stop you from giving me comfort, and twice now i have been too late to help you when you needed someone the most. i'm a creature of self-indulgence. i exist to tempt myself. every moment of reflection brings me closer to the truth about the person i really am and so i spend as little time thinking as possible. my writing is stale and stagnant and so i immerse myself in reading. i read something recently --

thieves are the ones who must creatively and artful design their crimes.

detectives simply are critics who come after and look for flaws.

goddamn it. everything in me hopes for acknowledgement but i've always been a fan of holmes and his adventures, and i will always be more judgmental than creative. there are parallels between good and wrong and shades of gray that a more clever person would take advantage of but i am caught up in self-loathing.

i want to be the person everyone expects of me. i want to be the perfect friend, and daughter, and girlfriend. i want to be everything in the world as long as the world will let me.

thieves are a dime a dozen, but there is only one holmes; i'm neither and i don't know how to handle that.