This is a big fuck you to Non-Fiction.

fuck you, Non-Fiction.

And now I will explain:

I am a socialized humanoid. I exist because social constructs allow me to; they tell me how to act, how to think, how to be, and (most importantly) what to expect. I can make friends by adhering to social norms like shaking hands and answering the question "how are you?" with "okay". I can date a boy and know that, at some point, he's probably going to expect something more physical from me because my physical attributes and how I use them are way more important to our relationship than my personality, despite what he says. I can change my clothes according to where I'm going, whether it be work or class or a party.

What I can't do though is give Non-Fiction what it wants and that is because it is willing to take so much that I have nothing to give it. What if I disappoint it? What if I don't do it justice? What if my non-fiction- my reality- is completely uninteresting and unimportant to Non-Fiction? This is not my problem though. This is Non-Fiction's problem.

Non-Fiction is synonymous with the word "whatever".

Waiting passively, as though it is willing to accept whatever I have to offer, Non-Fiction waits for me to fail. It leaves so many options open for me, not because it wants to hear everything, but because it doesn't really care. Like the half-assed ear of an acquaintance, Non-Fiction is only pretending to listen to everything I have to say, nodding and laughing at seemingly appropriate times. But when I ask for it's opinion, Non-Fiction will simply shrug it's shoulders and tell me to ask someone else. Non-Fiction and I will never be best friends at this rate.

Like a dog chasing its tail though, I am not yet ready to give up on Non-Fiction. Instead, I have a proposal to make. Here I am, bending on one of my literary knees and holding Pandora's Box in my hand, waiting to open it. All I need is an answer to the one question everyone has been scared to ask: What do you want from me, Non-Fiction? When I get the answer, I will be ready and willing to give Non-Fiction what it wants and expects from me. Until that day though, I will continue to pine over Non-Fiction, vacillating between love and hate all while trying incessantly to please the insatiable nature it has adopted.