What is this feeling...?
It cannot be... It wasn't supposed to be like that. I am not like that. I'm not supposed to be like that.
She's like a Gosling generating machine. I can't believe this. I thought I was above this shit. I'm not. I'm just a little push away of being a simp, a parasocial loser, a pitiful husk of a man getting throat knots over an employee of a corporation playing a role for money.
All it takes to shatter this delusion of self worth is for a girl to talk about cheesecake and coffee over a tacky sentimental soundtrack while pretending to be almost young enough to be my daughter. Hearing the soft voice of paid kindness projected at my general direction.
Were the japanese just one step ahead all this time? In the near future, am I gonna pay a girl in an alley shop to rest my head in her lap for 30 minutes while she brushes my hair?
I'm confused.
No one ever prescribed me the meds.
