Isn’t it Strange?
I was reading some of Frank Miller’s latest stuff and came across this passage:
“How strange that it would be you. The mean one. The cruel one. The one with the darkest soul. How strange that you, of all of us, would be the most hopeful.”
To me, this doesn’t seem strange at all. Cynical people often create a considerably thick shell that hides a romantic soul. The people that blast everything, the ones that seem angry, often act the way they do because deep down they are incredibly hopeful, but it frightens them to admit it. It frightens them to dream.
I guess I’m the converse. I’m often perceived as happy-go-lucky, carefree, and flippant. But anyone who really knows me will tell you that I’m anything but. I’m depressingly negative, exceedingly whiny, and annoyingly needy. My faux shiny exterior is a front to cover up how pathetically morose I am. I have so many wonderful dreams, but deep down I’m too frightened to believe in them.