I Am A Hypocrite

You may not understand now, not after I explain it, not after living through it with me… you may never. I hardly understand, myself. But that’s the price I pay for my knowledge—I don’t understand myself. But that isn’t your problem. You’re only here to hear about why I, a random person you have just met, am calling myself a hypocrite. You are here to hear a nice little tale that will perhaps be funny to you, where you’ll leave later with that crazy girl from the market in your thoughts, and how crazy, out of her mind she seemed.

This is not the case.

If you are in dire need of a comedy told by a lunatic from this very market, I suppose you should leave me here, now, for me to find another soul to tell the tale to.

Are we ready?

Are we settled in, ready for travel back in time?

I wasn’t, either. But we all have to deal with that.

Now, as we sit on the stone outskirts of the flower bed that decorated the dreary outside of this market, we prepare ourselves to open our minds, to depart on a journey together, why, you and I.

Mere strangers who met in the sweets section of this market, aisle nine, between our shared two favourite vendors.

Now, we will be forever bound to each other from pure knowledge that only we and the others involved take part in.

Do you feel special?

You should.

But is this too much to bear?

If so, I’m afraid this is another point in which I may have to ask you to leave.

I only want the strong of heart, the trustworthy, the patient.

This is a story about love.

This is a story about loss.

This is a story about lessons learned, failed, and repeated.

This is a story about discovery.

And yet, this is a story leading to my answer.

Why am I a hypocrite?

…Feeling faint?

…Breathless?

…Deadened?

…Hoarse?

…Dim?

…Faltering?

…Hazy?

…Above all, are you feeling weak?

This, my new and dear friend, is the third and final time I am going to have to ask you to leave.

No?

Now is when we begin.