You're so vain

Woke up with a bad taste in my mouth and a headache in the corners of my eyes. But by the time I'm frothing minty freshness at the bleary smear that represents me in the mirror I've already started to erase you.

I am not a social person. I am only ever as close to being myself on a one-to-one basis and that entirely depends on whether I like you or I trust you (the two are not mutually exclusive). I would say at this moment in my life and for the best part of a year there are two people who could say they know me and I would not get defensive about it. One I like and one I trust. One of each like some dippy parents who want an ideal. I have never had any problems being alone. In a group or utterly by myself I think the same amount of shit, I overanalyse the same amount of shit. The times when I've come home happy are when I've seen the one I like or the one I trust. Which reminds me I should call the trustworthy one and take her out for a drink sometime soon. All I have ever done is seek the quiet in the bustling. Hence the West End where I can take a bus into people every ten minutes if I need to or sit still somewhere and not talk to anybody. I don't care what people think of me, you can believe that if you want to. What I care about is when people talk that idea of me they've created and infiltrate to question what I do. I have never asked anybody to help me. I have never asked anybody to fix me. I have been single for a long time but not as long as I talk. Because there's little to say. And yes I do in fact want a relationship but I want to fall in love. I want it to mean something and more importantly I want a relationship that will not change me in any other way than to make me happier. It's this reason why I seek and hold on to the people who don't feel the need to tell me what's wrong and what's right. It's this reason I fall in love most days with people I don't know and will never know or I fall for people I can't have and I'm not sure I really want but I fall anyway. If we ignore films and songs and books the last time I cried was at the sky, in a fit of what you might call pretentiousness. I can be hurt and have been hurt but you know what. I am nineteen years old in my second year of a pointless degree with no real job and no real talent. I am not even that attractive or that smart. I am alive though and not unhappy being so. At this moment, that's good enough for me.

So in the nicest way I can possibly manage, do fuck off.