Am I honestly a nice guy? I feel like I am but im so unsure. I always thoght I was? But recent events have me questioning myself. Could I have been blinded by total arrogance? Hiding me from my true self. Or was I just too damn ignorant to see the reasons behind my actions? Honestly I am unsure. I don’t even know myself the way I think I do. I get up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror and wonder who I am. Im not like I seem myself in my dreams. Im not this decadent handsome young man with pearly white teeth and glistening brown hair and a tight body. Im not this over nice guy who treats women like goddesses. Im not brilliantly smart, or dashing or insanely brave. Im not loving, un obsessive, easy going. Im not funny, or witty, or sharped tongued. Im just not who I think I am any more? Who am I? I feel like a prototypical asshole with nothing else on my mind besides sex. I think of my self as perverted and dirty. I see myself as a washed up old fart sitting in a nursery home at the age of fifty five with a bottle of beefeater in one hand and a medicine cup filled with vicadine pills in the other, ogling over the nurses and showing my dog pictures in penthouse magazine. I see myself as a washed up failure who was so confident about his career and life when he was younger just to graduate collage, move and end up living his whole adult life wandering the streets of new York living in boxes and idolizing the old broken-down theaters on Broadway. Living in the past dreaming of the golden twenties when life was sweet and not taken for granted. People never wasted their breath on pitiful ideals of self-worth and fortune, they lived in the moment. they new no matter how long life seemed to them, no matter how much crap it throws at you to cover up its lie, that inevitably it ends, that father time slowed down the clocks to make their lives seem longer, that life was less than a millisecond of white noise. What am I to you? Am I a friend, a lover, an enemy? The question is what am I to myself?