Your life has been a series of misfortunes, mostly attributed to the people you have met.
Today I asked you what sorts of people you would have met instead, if you’d had a choice.

You said you’d like reliability and stability.

You are neither of these things.

“Hypocrite,” I thought.

I’m sure you expect those things of me. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you expect me to disappoint you like everyone else.

I wish I could tell you that I’d be different. But I won’t. I’ve already tried to be many times.

I’ve taken who I am and changed it, tweaked it, molded and sculpted it to fit your design. It never worked. If anything, it made you dislike me more— as if you could sense my attempted deceit.

I’ve learned, over time, that I will never be what you want me to be.