I will admit to you, and only you, that I am not always right. My body was not built to carry and sweat beneath the weight of the knowledge of the universe. I have lied about being a pillar.
The truth is (and I speak of truths the same way I speak of grinding teeth and broken nails) that my spine is as fragile as the string that forces it straight. I am not a product of my hard work; I am a product of laziness and innovation, and that is not beautiful.
Let me ask you this; what is it like falling in love with a girl who will never apologize for breaking your heart? It is not lovely to be proud and stubborn and pretentious. It is not pretty to walk across broken glass and ignore the trail of blood. So I will hand you the scissors and ask you to cut me down; saw through the knots and break down my pedestal until I am nothing but teeth and mangled fingerprints. Perhaps then I will finally have the courage to say to you that I am sorry.
