Hypocrite

Don't act like you don't know me. I'm that man from the backalleys of your brain. Yes, that very same guy! The decrepit being who goes through the vicissitudes of life thinking a longer and more convoluted word, wrapped in a compound sentence filled with reactionary double-entendres is the only way to say it right. 

 The one who thinks he deserves the woman he loves simply by virtue of being the only one not making any outright effort to get her, in a sea of men looking to make her feel special. The one who believes that every woman deserves to be fallen in love wih, and leads the crusade by example. The one who sees himself seek solace in the sound of a typewriter rather than in the company of her who he so desperately finds himself craving. Too classy to be vulnerable, and too timid to dominate; or so he tells himself.

 Life becomes a lot easier to tolerate, once you get past this arbitrary concept of it being "fair". That the universe has nothing better to do than to operate at the scale of your existence, and for some sort of balance, so that you do "good" out of compulsion, or a cosmic sense of transaction, than for any reason other than to secure your own existence, and justify your lifestyle to the beggar in the backalley, hunting for alms, from your wallet, and your fortitude.

 That man, meanwhile, has started to realise that all is not well. Pinned down, and unable to break free, he is enraged at his status, and dives for change. The weight of his personality bears down on him, but he does not acknowledge defeat; pleading with his existence to not give up, even offering his happiness in exchange. The elongated, moribund period ensues, where a desperate, clinging hope for that fate that your upright, non-threatening, comforting existence "deserves"; only until a realisation dawns, that deserving doesn't exist. And then there is peace.

 The one that always reaches beyond the three walls in the hope of a kindred "spirit", for want of a better word.

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