"One Put It On A Pedestal And Left It There"

Personally, I don't think I'm cynical. I think in order to be cynical one has to be logical as well, and I am the polar opposite of logical. I think my "cynisism" (I'm going to omit the quotations throughout the rest of my prose, but I'm sure you've picked up my drift by now) comes from thinking too much from my own eyes. My cynisism comes from too many hours spent contemplating the pros and cons of being myself. My cynisism comes from awful retail jobs and the mechanical routine of numbers, numbers, numbers. My cynisism comes from one too many late night PB & J's, in the hollow light of a lonely kitchen, against a backdrop of ominous and beautiful movie soundtracks. My cynisim comes from my mother, who cursed me with a pair of permanent and threatening rose colored glasses. A genetic mutation that romantisizes even the smallest instances. My cynisism comes from the self loathing that bites and scratches its way under my skin no matter how hard I kick, and no matter how many pieces of metal I pierce into my body. My cynisism comes from loving, too fully, the things that cannot love me back. My cynisim comes from obsession, an obsession with big and small. My cynisism comes on strongest after I've read The Missing Piece Meets the Big O by Shel Silverstein and feel that nothing in the world could be as impactful as those simple and stark illustrations. "One put it on a pedestal and left it there".


My cynism doesn't translate. It can't be talked out. It can't be cured, because on most days I hold it close to my chest. It's endearing being the opposite of endearing.

It's 3 a.m. and I am wishing I could have just one breakfast with Sara Quin. It's 3 a.m. and I am smitten with Ewan Mcgregor, and wishing I could tell him how much the film Beginners changed my perspective on just about everything. It's 3 a.m. and I'm scolding myself for loving people who might as well belong to my imagination.

It's 3 a.m. and I am feeling particularly cynical.

Goodnight.

Goodmorning?

Time doesn't exist, take it up with Herman Hesse.

copyright Yasamin Aftahi 2011