The Eternal Debate

I defy you.
Who, me?
Yes. As usual.
What did I do to you?
Everything. You and the others.
Don't bring them into this, they're nothing like me.
Their ends are.
So the means don't matter?
Not this time.
You can't do this. You need me. You are me.
No, you are a part of me. Not the definition, not the foundation. You are a tumor, a cancer that needs to be removed.
Shut up! Just Shut Up! You're wrong. You always are. This isn't my fault. You let me exist. You need me.
I can do without you. I need very few things. You are not one of them.
Oh. I see. She's better than me, is that it? You'd prefer that hussy, that tramp, that loose harlot to me?
Yes. Infinitely.
She'll desert you, you know. She'll toy with you, caress you, make you her own. And then *poof!* Gone. Like a flash of light. Here, then vanished. You think you're happy? YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPINESS IS!
Ah. And I suppose you do?
I know what misery is. I know what pain is. I know what sadness is.
It's beautiful.
It's agonizing.
Sunlight alone is not required for survival. We need rain as well. Why should one's soul be different?
Risks? YOU? What's next? Gambling? Alcohol? Sex? Ah, yes, your hormones have taken over. You want the forbidden; the "impassable" walls you've built around it have made it all the more desirable. You want to be "connected" and lose the distance. The run alone will kill you, if the trap at the end doesn't. You'll ruin your life before it starts. You'll ruin others in the process. You'll fail and drag the rest of the world down with you.
I can limit myself, stop myself if need be. I won't ignore you. I just won't heed you without doubt.
Doubt? I am doubt! How do you doubt doubt?
I simply do, and it is done.
Hah. Lies. You've been listening to lies. She's got you wrapped around her finger. And soon, when your head rests upon her pristine thumb she'll squish you like a bug. I am the medium. I protect you from deception. You hate deception.
But I love love.
Another deception. You don't love anything except yourself. This isn't about anything but you. You're a king of fools, and your reign will soon come to an end.
Is it better to be the highest of fools or the lowest?
A fool is a fool is a fool.
If the fool's happy, I'd say a fool is anything but.
Are we back to happiness again? That silly, fickle notion. Happiness is a drug. And the high will decrease more and more as time passes. You'll have to put in more effort for less benefit until you're just another zombie in a dreary life, slaving away, waiting for death without the courage to admit it.
And without love, what am I?
You're content. That doesn't fade, once obtained. It's malleable. It takes minimal work. There is little risk in being content. There's an incredible risk in happiness. The higher you go, the harder you'll fall.
And what of it? I'll mend my wounds and climb right back up. Love is a surprisingly effective panacea for the soul.
Hah, are all Romantics such idiots?
Are all skeptics so blind?
She'll build you up, tear you down, and destroy the temple you've so painstakingly builty. You've achieved your goal. Do you want all that effort, that ideal to be desecrated beyond recognition?
Goals change. I want more.
Quit while you're ahead.
I may be a head, but a head alone is not the goal. A head and a heart is the ideal.
You'll lose.
Maybe. But the season's just started. There are plenty of games to play. And I just need one victory.
You'll never win.
Neither will you.
I won't lose.
You already have.