You singled me out. Not in such a mean way, just an observation. A reassurance. Everyone has to start somewhere. They talk big, but it wasn't so long ago that they were worse off than you. It was probably a load of crap, but it made me feel better. I never got a chance to tell you that, I got moved.
At least they had a reason for their snide comments with me, I'm not ashamed to admit I wasn't any good... I'm still not, if you want to split hairs. Your only crime was sticking up for the little guy. Even so, when it came time for me to return your favour, I couldn't. I couldn't look them in the eye and say that they couldn't do any better, I could scream it at the concrete walls and fibreglass windows, but as soon as they were there, silence. Maybe if I'd been able to muster that last little bit of courage, I could have changed their minds, made them see. But I couldn't. I failed, tripped over my own blades, face first into the floor. I never was as good as you.
I don't know which line it is, but I know it's been drawn in indelible ink. It's part of my definition now, part of my portrait. I didn't want it there, but now I can't escape it. It might be the curve of the figure, or an eyelash. If you look at a picture, you see both, and both influence your impression of it, your impression of me. The look on your face gives you away, and influences my impression of you.
Daydream Believer
