Improvisation / reading

I’m Improvising again! (warning, this is sadder than I thought it would be when I started)

Okay, Got it!

(clears throat)

Dear All of fiction. Stop Making Feel Sorry for you! You aren’t real people! I don’t want to care about you! I want to care about realistic things! And no, making fiction realistic only makes it an imitation!

I wish to save my bodily fluids for when Real sad things happen. When I lose something. When My friends are hurt. When the world ends! I don’t want to use them crying over how some kid who isn’t even real dies after Chapters and Chapters of “getting to know him!” It…it’s not fair…

…I don’t feel the same kind of sad when real things happen. Some real sadness came to me recently. It’s…different then I remember. It’s raw, bitter with no sweet. It’s true hurt with no poetic properties. When you cry for fiction, you aren’t really hurt. You know happiness will come again. In real life you don’t feel that way. You don’t even think about sadness. You feel hurt and can’t see the end of it. When you feel bad in real life, the tears don’t come at first. My emotions are like things in a box. The sadness is there, but it’s trap in my improperly managed mind. I have to sort out my mind before the sadness pours out. Tears have to be searched for. Healing is done manually, happiness has to be worked for. And it  has to be done, no matter how weak you feel.

Fiction is so simple. You’re sad when the characters are suffering. You’re happy when they don’t. Real life isn’t as complex. I…I don’t know anymore what I’m supposed to feel. I worry about it sometimes.

I read sadness in fiction, but I know it’s not real. It’s just pretend sadness. Sometimes you forget it’s pretend sadness, until you’re forced to feel the real kind again. You don’t even recognize it.



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