…we had met at a different time, a different place? Is it possible, imaginable, that we would be friends?
I doubt it.
Because I’ve seen the slither, the snaking of your true self beneath the cracked veneer of your mask, and I’ve caught glimpse of the forked tongue that darts between your lips when you smile. I’ve seen the duplicity of your two faces, neither winsome, and I’ve seen your staged bravado while you hide behind the blindness of ignorance.
You are not mysterious. You are not clever. You are merely too selfish to be ashamed.