no encore

somewhere right now, he's telling his new girlfriend what a terrible person i was, and she's sitting there smiling like she just won the lottery.

two clowns. one circus.

the truth is, he's recycling the same tired victim story because accountability was never something he learned how to carry. growing up would require him to look at himself, and that has always been far more frightening than finding someone new to blame.

every time he makes me the villain, she gets to feel a little more chosen. a little more special. a little more convinced that she must be different. maybe she thinks she won.

but eventually, she may realize the prize was just a front-row seat to a show i already walked out of: same script. same habits. same excuses. different woman.

circuses are always loud.

the main clown can bang the drums, blow the horns, and scream his version of events until the whole town hears it.

but noise has never made mediocrity impressive.