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#MisanthropeSolo - Thoughts of a Wanderer - Day 8

New town, new people, new chances. New faces every day. None of them catches my attention. None of them matters. For over a century I’ve been searching for just that one face in the crowd. And when I finally found it, it wasn’t even her. But nonetheless this face flipped my life upside down; changed it in such a way that I no longer recognized myself. Stefan was right. Small towns lives are not for me. They bore me. They suffocate me. I need space to breathe and be myself.

For the first time in a very long time I feel like myself again. I wake up with no plans, no obligations. No one tells me what to do, what to leave or where to go. I’ve been wasting my time with my brother. For a while I really thought that this could actually work. /We/ could actually work. The Salvatore brothers united again. At home. But there were many reasons why it didn’t work. And one was surely the same face that made us part around 150 years ago.

With familiar faces come memories, expectations, hopes and feelings. I left all that. Everyone has expectations. I sure as hell have some of my own. But no one ever lived up to them. Not my brother, not his friends who never saw me as one of them - “Why aren’t you more like your brother, Damon?” - not her. Yes, my expectation was that she’d love me the way I am. But who could do that, right? The bad brother. The impulsive monster. I’ve been called many names. I never cared. Sticks and stones. But I’m tired of being compared to someone I never will be. Never want to be. Just because literature romanticized vampires. And because my brother lived up to that image.

I wouldn’t.

I lose my train of thoughts when the brunette next to me stirs in her sleep. When she reaches out to wrap her arm around me, I’ll be long gone. And by the time she wakes, she will think it was all just a dream. I made sure of it. She won’t remember me and just continue her life. Enviable.