why am I attracted to the emotionlessness in Dexter Morgan?

Sometimes I fail to see the beauty in this. I don't like it. Half the time I don't know what I'm doing but it doesn't matter. Why am I still awake? Why is your voice always like coming home...? What am I even talking about, I don't know. This is the time of night when everything jumbles into a big ball of intense detestation, defensiveness and resentment. My chemistry is altered but everything's manifesting itself physically. It feels like I can start over at the beginning of every week but it never happens. I just want it to be over already, to fast forward this part of life but it's not happening.

"So what's she like? Other than inferior?" he asked, knowing it would make me feel impossibly contra sub human.

You know we haven't spoken in... oh I don't know how long. Last time was when I was going to see Kaell at Manic. I didn't even want to say Merry Christmas. Our cold silence is atrophy-ing anything that ever existed in our collective spheres. I don't mind. I finally understand that my happiness is not tied up in your unhappiness. Hmmm - being petty will be missed. There's a really nice kind of smugness in it. I said it was strange, how we are strangers now, but how else could anything like this ever work? It couldn't, could it? Will I see you in the credits one day? I have to actively think about thinking about you. Will you fade? Be a distant half obscured memory at the end of my life? Will you register - in my mind - as I lay on my deathbed?

This human's existence is no longer necessary for the furthering of my goals. Struck off the chart, dropped off the line, discarded like a paltry pawn in a fucked up chess game.

And so I march to Harper Lewis, having regained my stride, the cascade of drums and bass swirling around me as my coat is flapping - hair tangling in the wind. A cinematic type of life. Sarcastically thinking "my sweet Clementine".