Imagine

Ophelia didn't die. She just told Hamlet to take a walk and married another man. That would have been fun.

Othello never said a word to Desdemona. All he got was a letter, and the news that she had decided to remarry. Would have been a short play. But a good one.

Bah. Years of angst. A ridiculous blog that sometimes feels dedicated to hate. A reality that screams in my face, painting me a villain. A reality that makes me detest the people and the place that made the biggest impact in my life. Ensuring, that I will never live normally ever.

And you DARE to suggest I would CHOOSE to live like this. That this existence pleases me. That the pain of the memory is my choice, and I could neuter if I felt like it.

Dear sweet lord. Keep your ridiculous assumptions to yourself. If you haven't the imagination to understand that somebody like me might exist, and I won't fit it into one of YOUR ridiculous theories, you really should keep it to yourself.