Subtext

Subtext

I don’t know what to say. I mean, what do you want me to say? Do you want me to admit that I knew or know or, fuck, am aware of the fact that you’re a cheater? Secrets refuse to remain hidden, shrouded in shadow. Like, how does a person cope with the lies, the deceit, the failure to acknowledge his/her own sense of self respect. No self-respecting person would ever cheat on something so simple, and yet, here I am now, dealing with the after effects of a person who would cheat whenever given the chance. Does everyone cheat whenever possible? If the perfect opportunity arises, do people cheat? What does cheating require, or what must a person lack to willingly cheat? 

I remember teachers who said that cheaters never prosper, but reality presents an alternate likelihood: ONLY cheaters prosper. Success proves itself impossible without a little cheating, a little soul-crushing concession to sell one’s own self in the cheapest way possible in order to gain the greatest possible return on the smallest amount of effort, a little helping hand —*cough, Instagram. I’m sure that most successful people believe that their success has been earned. I would. Fool one’s self not, however.

Success comes mostly by way of luck. Mountains do not feel as though they have worked harder, the hardest to reach their heights. Only a totally conceited, horribly out-of-touch mountain would view itself in such a way because, obviously, the mountain has been pushed to those heights out of sheer luck in geographic location. Fate it seems relies on both being in the right place, at the right time. But the obvious sheds light on the fool, that fool being I.