I’m a sociopath.
I look like everyone else.
You can’t pick me out of a crowd. You can’t discern my motives in a conversation. I blend. I absorb. I survive.
I become anything and everything you need me to be. I never raise a suspicion. I just… exist there, in your memory, your mind. And I’m comfortable. Your defense lowers, and I enter your life, softly at first, and then there I am, larger than life. In a relationship with you. And the dance begins. I change things.
You don’t remember a detail that I do. You don’t remember a conversation that I do. And suddenly, you doubt yourself at every turn. Are you crazy?
Then begins the fighting. You know you aren’t insane, but somehow when you’re with me you feel that way. You cling to details of events that I insist never occurred. I, in my best…
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