High Life

So it seems we all have our points of interest, any moment in which we open up enough for people to start moulding their impressions upon what we choose to tell, miss out or talk about in our past. Everyone loves themselves more than anyone else, so if you want them to love you you'd better be like them, or have the confidence and abandon enough to tread your own steps. I know what i let slip, played in a couple of bands, do a bunch of self indulgent music that'll probably never make it out of my bedroom, could've been a dancer but gave up, who knew! In fact, after most small talk i've found nothing but simple minded mental nourishment, exercise, money, poor entertainment and unattainable women. I don't know how much this all matters or what i'm getting towards. How does anyone get past the small talk of a few seconds, i find it insufferable and would rather speak gibberish than exchange "how are you's" or smiles and nods. Why not just ignore if you have nothing to say? I guess acknowledgement helps the needy and insecure, but i have little enough love to care for both. Sympathy grows with experience, and while i've learnt that noone really wants to hear about the problems of their distant friends, i've not had enough problems in this new reality to need any friends to confide in. The friends in this 9-5 seem superficial and impermanent, of these older friends i find immaturity and lack of social intelligence far before their years. In fact, most people don't even believe/or know that i'm 19 here. I like this place yet am confused by its smiles and laughs. I like the people but know that once i leave many will fade away. I have no problems but long for the ones of old, what would play on my conscience, how my mind would unravel at injustice and be shared with like minds and less. Those i looked up to are still alive, more understood and less dwelt on. Happy valentines day, this ones for the lovers.