Just exchanging pleasantries with them makes me curious, and texting each other makes me feel restless. If I get a call, for the rest of the day, I keep checking my call history with a stupid grin on my face. But I know the truth. They’re just being nice. Anyone nice to me is nice to others too. But I always find myself on the verge of forgetting that. If the truth is a cruel mistress, then a lie must be a nice girl. And so, niceness is a lie. I would always hold expectations. I would always misunderstand. At some point, I stopped hoping. An experienced incel never falls for the same trap twice. A lone warrior, surviving hundreds of battles. When it comes to losing, I’m the strongest. That’s why, no matter what happens, I will always hate nice girls.
