My kind of different is your kind of indifferent

The world is a place. It is a space. Much like that space bar on your keyboard - very essential to your typing yet you cannot help but wish that there was an easier way to separate your words. But you are so used to this kind of typing that you do not question it...
As for now all that I am trying to talk about are things that do not matter as much as I pretend to myself (and to you) that they do. Because I am currently facing an avoidance of the issue that has blocked (and has had me blog-ged as well) from any positive emotion as such. Now that is my kind of indifferent. The pretense, the mind games. A complete ruthless denial. A never-not-seen-before refusal to succumb to the fact that I am merely a puppet. A muse. That all that I have or what I choose to believe that I have is but something that had been bestowed on me by a bigger something.. a choice that never even was mine to make.. an option, conclusively, that was a compulsion that was forced on me.