To read between the lines, and other cliches like that.

She said hello.
[Holy crap she said hello.
What does that mean? Does that mean she likes me?
No, don’t be silly – she’s just friendly, just saying hello. Everyone says hello.
That’s not true. Some people say ‘hey’ or ‘hi’. ‘Hello’ is quite forceful when you think about it. Damn it, that means she’s not relaxed. Is saying hello to me a chore? I don’t want her to think she has to be formal around me.
Damn it, man. You’ve screwed it up again.
Did she smile? Yes she did. Okay that’s a good sign. But don’t look into it too much – she probably smiles at everyone. You know she does – that’s why she’s so pretty.
Wow, that was even awkward to just think.
But it’s so true! Ugh her hair and her eyes and her mouth and her nose. Oh my god her nose!
Wow it’s definitely weird that you like her nose.
I’m okay with it.
Of course you are.
Okay. I need to say something now. I’m thinking maybe a ‘hey’.
But then you give her the conversation – don’t make her ask the questions. Be confident!
Okay Okay! How’s this?]
“Hey, how are you?” he asked back, returning a smile as he lowered his headphones from atop his head.
“I’m good! Just, you know, busy with class and stuff”
[Oh crap, she said ‘and stuff’
That means she’s doing stuff other than uni! Maybe it’s some suave Italian guy named ‘Juan’ or something. She probably met him in the park whilst he was taking photos of birds and noting how incredibly delicate and beautiful they are. Damn it, you’ve screwed it up again!
Did I sound like I was kidding?
It’s probably nothing. Go on. Say something else.
It totally isn’t. We need to back away.
NO! Hold on, we can power through.
Okay okay! Don’t need to be so violent! Maybe this is okay.]
“Ahh really? Hope it’s not building up on you?”
“No, it’s okay, It’s just enough stress for it to be helpful” she laughed, still holding the textbook in her arms, clutched towards her chest.
[Okay, stay cool, she just laughed.
Get a grip! This is an opportunity. Here, say this]
“That’s good I guess” he chuckled in return, glancing down towards the table and then returning his gaze. “You always need some time off though”
“Yeah I guess, I just need everything sorted out and I’ll be okay” she nodded, shrugging slightly, her textbook slipping slightly.
[She’s being very vague.
That’s cause you’re being vague.]
“Oh I haven’t seen that film you recommended yet!” she jolted. “I’ll get around to it soon though.”
“Oh, yeah, well let me know when you see it – I think you’ll like it, I did”
“Yes your taste in films usually delivers quite well, I find” she smiled again – beamed, really.
[Was that a compliment?
I think so.
Holy crap! That was a compliment!
Okay, stay cool. Ask her to sit down. Maybe she wants a cup of coffee or something?
No, tea, she likes tea.
Okay, tea then, jeez…]
“Hey, do you want to sit down?” he motioned towards the chair opposite. “Might get a cup of tea or something?”
“Oh, I can’t, I have to go to a meeting. Supervisor needs to discuss my report, it’s all quite tedious,” she said, swaying slightly, her finger fiddling with the spine of her book.
[Damn it.
Maybe she genuinely has to go?
It’s worth a shot, come on.]
“Ahh okay” he said, in a manner that could surely have hid his disappointment more adequately. “Maybe another time?”
“Yeah sure! Give me a call and we’ll set something up” she said as she adjusted her stance, motioning towards the door.
“Sure, sure” he nodded, smiling.
“See you”
[See, that was okay right?
I guess.]
He smiled to himself.
[I just need to call her at some point now. Make sure that’s not too awkward.
Don’t worry it’ll be fine. You’ve talked on the phone before, mate.
You think?
Yeah. One thing though – do you have her number?]
And soon as the smile came, it vanished, his hand grabbing his forehead.
“Shit” he mumbled into table. 

A Collection of Thoughts.

They say that everything is okay in the end. If it’s not okay, then it’s not the end. It’s all a process leading to a point where peace is reached and happiness is achieved.
But what if you are just part of the process? What if the inevitable happiness is not meant for you? What if you are just a secondary character in an epic survival tale, one that takes the hit and doesn’t make it to the end of the film?
Depressing thought, isn’t it? Is everything really okay in the end, or do we just learn to deal with our problems? Do times of grief really pass, or do they constantly exist and we just cope with them on a daily basis?

Isn’t it nice to think that we all are here for a reason? That every person you walk past on the street passes you because they were meant to? That girl that smiled at you at the coffee shop doesn’t just smile at everyone? That the hole in your socks dips below the brim of your shoe so the world can’t see it? Nice, isn’t it, to believe that sometimes the universe treats you nicely?
We have good days and we have bad days. Sometimes we have a many good days in a row, and we call them good weeks, or good months or years. Sometimes, well most of the time, we take good days for granted. It takes a properly horrid day to make us realize how good we had it. What a shame it is, though, to think that we had good days and didn’t fully appreciate them.

She dipped her head, grinned and skipped across the corridor into his arms. Her brown hair bounced in the air before landing on his shoulders. The force sent him onto his back foot, smiling as he regained his balance. His arms set around her as her head came to rest on the nape of his neck. He felt her breathe in and exhale slowly, as if she was breathing in fresh air after months in solitude. 

If I could have a super power, it would be to make people happy. That’s all people really need. The richest man in the world may suffer depression and the poorest might laugh all day long. Happiness is the only thing that makes the world go round. People only want things when they aren’t happy. People only fight others when they aren’t happy.
Some ask themselves, “What do I need to be happy”. The answer is nothing. Happiness doesn’t come from anything other than you. It doesn’t come in the form of cars, or money, or love or praise – You can be happy without all of that.
It’s just more fun if you have them.

When you meet someone, do you expect him or her to be a nice person? Do you assume that everyone you meet is innately good? Or, do you assume that they are bad and when they do nice things they prove themselves otherwise?

Everyone is entitled to my opinion.
Why do you dress nicely every time you go out? Maybe if you’re just heading to the supermarket, or even to the post office, why do you put effort into your appearance? Do you think you’ll run into somebody important? Do you think you’ll run into the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with? Is there someone you want to impress, or maybe show up?
Or are you just so insecure that you worry over the judgment that perfect strangers will make?

If you can’t find a girlfriend or a boyfriend, just become a narcissist and live happily ever after.

The end.

The Beginning of a Story.

He creaked open the wooden door and walked into the little coffee shop. Small, yes, but only in size. The name embossed over the window and the logos on the mugs identified that the young man had walked into one of a large chain. Security, rather than risk was what he needed in his coffee. Harrison walked to the counter and glanced at the menu, only to ensure he had enough change. A skim of the tables told him that it wasn’t peak hour, but rather just after. Empty chairs left ajar at tables with dirty cups and plates showed that it had been busy and the staff were running behind on their chores. Three customers remained in the shop; an elderly couple sitting by window, sipping their coffee in silence; and a girl with her head down in a novel, the crumbs from her sandwich remaining on her plate with a pot of tea to its side. 

Harrison smiled at the boy at the counter and gave him his order – cappuccino, medium, 2 sugars – and glanced at the pastries, but decided against it. As the cashier plugged the order into the computer, the young man couldn’t help but notice the bags around his eyes. It was nearly half three in the afternoon, the boy must have started early. He was far too young to be of any position of management, it couldn’t be the stress that had caused his tire. 

“Nearly home time?” Harrison asked.

“Nah, just been in an hour or so” prompted the cashier.

Ah, of course. Not an early riser, just an average student. 

Harrison took the sign with his order number and turned to choose a seat. Against the wall, facing the outside so he could play psychic to passers by. He pulled out the chair, unintentionally making far too much noise in the process. The girl with the novel looked up, smiled, adjusted her book and returned to it. Harrison noticed the title – Catching Fire, by Suzanne Collins – and smiled. 

“Any good?” he broke the silence once again. 

The girl looked up and gave a polite grin and nodded.

“Better than the first” she returned, her eyes flicking to the pages. 

The Narcissist and The Character.

The Character is His own. It is singular of all others and all things. There is no dependance, nor any dependent, regardless of any external viewpoint. There is merely an Audience to observe its grandeur, to learn from its intelligence, to bask in the glow. There is no blood running through its limbs, for that would be a sign of mortality. It has no greater aim than to be itself for now and for later, an aim He believes that the audience should mimic. It itself is perfection, and any flaw is primarily decided upon to relax its viewership. 

Its interactions are theatrics presented to the Audience – to excite, to enrage, to endear. It is a character created in the vision of excellency, made to ensue envy throughout the crowd. It entertains as would a film, evoking themes of love and joy, but also heartbreak and sorrow. He is his character, but they are not one in the same. 

The Character is grand. He, however, is excellent for creating it. He is the author and designer, the playwright and director. The Character is merely based on Him. It looks alike, it sounds alike, but that is all. For He and his Character are not equal. The Character is far greater – it is more intelligent, more charismatic, more attractive and more skilled. It is created in a way to ensure that the Audience will recognize its brilliance.  

He hides behind the Character in its shadow, a place of safety and security. No harm can come to him here, for all pain is inflicted on the ever changing external. The Character is merely altered to compensate. He is brilliant enough to create magnificence from inflicted pain – the Audience respects those who have been through harm. 

Every judgement made on the Character by the audience can be manipulated by Him to ensure that its perception remains level. If it is inflicted with pity, He turns that into respect. If it is viewed as selfish, He ensures it is paltry self confidence. There is no repercussion that can be permanently harmful, only the foundation of grand tales. Every sky-scraper and every monument is build on dirt and rubble, just as every magnificent story is built on indignation and filth. 

And each story is magnificent, created in His mind. Stories of the past and maybe stories of the future, based on extensive research on the Audiences’ tastes. Birthplaces, homes, friends and relatives – all altered and lied about to create the most attractive individual. For He is a liar – a brilliant one. There is no field that is sacred in his domain, for his ability to alter the truth is matched by no one. The Character is perfect, even if He isn’t so. He lies not through his teeth, but through the Character. Every facet of the Character’s ‘personality’ is falsity based on one of His own truths. 

Whilst the Character shields him from the harm of the external, He is not shielded by the residue from the Character. There is a constant feeling of guilt, of shame and, more heavily, the fear that he might be revealed. His ability to lie is frightening for Him – he can no longer tell the truth as it feels unnatural. He is a puppet-master, for now and forever and he will die under the disguise of the Character. He will feel no love as he feels no pain, for He has no interaction with the Audience and the external. As a father lives through his children, He lives through the Character. His creative intelligence and brilliance comes at this cost, and it is far too late to break the fourth wall. He is alone, and only feels the inside of the Character’s mask. 

The costume of the Character remains as attractive and endearing as it was and will always be. Underneath, however, unseen by the external, the hems fray. The Character will die, either due to the revelation of His existence by a member of the audience, or due to the residue seeping through and destroying Him. He will die under the mask, unseen by the world, with the name of the Character etched upon the tomb.