I told him once he was a praise whore, and thought he was going to cry. The look of hurt shown in his eyes nearly broke my heart.
But still, what I said was truth.
I tried to reach that part of him; beyond the shallows, into the depths, and for a moment successfully glimpsed. But it didn’t last long; nothing discussed apparently took. For he’s still just as shallow, if not more so; worrying what the rest of the world thinks; determining his human worth by the number of possessions he can acquire, the number of heads he can turn, and how many times he stands at center of attention.
Trying so very hard to impress; bragging as a child might, as if to say, “Look what I have and you don’t,” when of all the people in the whole of the world, he knows I’m the queen of modest living and that material possessions of any kind, simply do not impress.
I wouldn’t be on the receiving end of his karma for all the money in the world! And what strikes me as odd, is that after all this time and distance, why he goes out of his way, to make certain that I see?
He should ask himself that at night, when he lays his head on his designer pillow, next to his lunatic wife, convincing himself that he’s finally made it, and happiness he has found.