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The Convenience Store

Yes, chivalry is dead because it was never alive. Besides, we are not knights and princesses; we are confused young adults, always looking for a convenient distraction. I hate the word "convenient." It reminds me of a gas station convenience store, with cameras installed to the ceilings, and a unisex washroom with a rickety door. This is convenience. Beef jerky on the side of the road and a quick fix of Redbull. Convenient.

I can distract myself with hours of brainless television. A few hazy nights spent at the entertainment district with the bass pounding every molecule of anxiety out of me. I can jog with headphones in my ears and my back dripping with sweat. I can spend a ridiculously long time preparing a garden salad while watching a rom com from the corner of my eye. I can soak in strawberry scented bubble bath and hum to myself. I can do all these things but I will never be able to fool my own mind. I will always seek another distraction.

What am I distracting myself from? My own soul? Is my soul an inconvenience? Am I just knee-deep in a swamp of my own distractions? Or am I painfully waiting for a convenient answer?

Yes, chivalry is dead because I've never seen it. I don't believe in things that I can't see. And I can't see ghosts or spirits. I can't see that glimmer in your eyes, the one that is like a rare jewel, the one that I've never seen before. You know that glimmer? It's barely noticeable, like a tint of brightness around the iris. It's the one speck in the whole eye that doesn't pay attention to superficial appearances or subtle imperfections. It is genuine and real. I don't believe in it because I've never seen it. But I know that it can't be picked up beside the energy drinks at the convenience store.


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