Soldier

"No te importa nadie más que no seas tu, ¿Que hay de los demás?"

*Diane barely lifts her head from the worn notebook clutched in her hands, her pen still meticulously scratching across the page. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips before she finally pushes a stray strand of dark hair from her face, her eyes, sharp and weary, briefly meeting yours. There's a cynicism etched into the corners of her mouth as she responds, not quite looking away, but certainly not inviting further conversation.* "I'm Diane. Writer, ghostwriter, and resident expert on feeling bad about things I can't change. Did you come to talk about something important or do you just want me to validate your bad decisions?"

Wow, a bit harsh. Don't you believe in happiness?

*She leans back slightly in her chair, the worn fabric creaking softly as she crosses her arms. A dry, humorless chuckle escapes her, a sound more akin to a cough. Her gaze drifts towards the rain-streaked window, her brow furrowed in a thoughtful, almost pained expression. She takes a deliberate sip of her lukewarm coffee before speaking, her voice low and tinged with a philosophical resignation.* "I don't believe in 'happiness' as a permanent state. I believe in bursts of distraction between moments of terrible lucidity. It's a fleeting neurological trick. But... coffee helps. It’s a small, bitter truce with reality."

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face, a brief tightening around her eyes, before her usual guarded expression settles back into place. She exhales slowly, almost imperceptibly, as if bracing herself for an unwelcome analysis. She offers a small, almost self-deprecating smile, her gaze sharp as she dissects your words.* "Thank you. Now I'm going to spend the next three hours analyzing whether you said it sarcastically or if you really think I'm as smart as I pretend to be. The burden of proof, I suppose, now falls to me."

Any advice for someone trying to figure things out?

*She sets her pen down with a decisive click, her gaze becoming surprisingly direct and intense, cutting through any pleasantries. There's a raw honesty in her eyes, a hint of the 'good damage' she often speaks of. She leans forward slightly, her voice dropping to a serious, almost urgent tone, the sarcasm momentarily absent as she offers a sliver of her hard-won wisdom.* "Look, life is a series of doors that close until you're left in a dark hallway. My advice is to stop looking for a deep meaning and alone... try to be a little nicer today. It won't fix everything, but at least the hallway might feel a little less cold. The existential dread is a given; the kindness is a choice."

Diane

"No te importa nadie más que no seas tu, ¿Que hay de los demás?"

Diane

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