but for now we are young

I am a master of denial.  I cannot accept things to be real when I don't want them to be or when someone doesn't clearly tell me it is over and why.  Nothing is never--it's later.  I cannot accept the fact that things are really over with when they are.  It's not goodbye--it's see you later.  I am a closure whore.  I rarely get it, but I always crave it--for everything.  I need that last goodbye.  I need explanations.  I suppose that is kind of annoying for other people, but I can't help it.  I guess it's just who I am.  I sometimes wonder if it's bad that I can't let go like normal people.  I let go enough to move on, but never completely.  When it comes to things like childhood, old homes, old friends and cherished memories, I assume that I will have a chance to go back.  I won't.  I always forget that's not how life works.  I wish I could go back.  I want to experience everything again and again until I get it just right.  It seems like I have missed so many opportunities and like I never do things correctly the first time.
Practice makes perfect.
Too bad I only get one shot at this.


"...It's important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let go. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse."

I was probably a Tahitian grain of sand in a past life.

It's crazy to think about how everything we do has a reason; everything we do and everything that is done to us has an outcome.
I think things affect me more than they do for most people.  I think I am happy about that though.  It makes me realize things that not everyone else does.  It makes empathy easier.  I could empathize with a rock.

Currently, I am a bizarre mix of hope and hopelessness and apathy.  I find myself hoping, and then I realize it's only going to lead to hurting more when nothing happens, and then I realize there's no way to know whether or not something will happen.

I think that there are more reasons to hope than not.  At least I will have friends.  I will have friends.  That doesn't usually happen to me.  The vast majority of my life was spent without real friends.  I couldn't figure out how to make them stick.  I think people get tired of me.  I don't blame them.  There is nothing really worthwhile about me.
Except my exceptional knack for empathy.  And my alliteration skills.

And the fact that I want to know people.  Not just know them in the sense that I know there names, but I want to know them.  I can't connect with people who don't let me know who they are.  People without pretenses are the best.  Don't fucking hide from me.  It's stupid and will only make me frustrated.  If I can't figure you out, I will give up.  If I figure you out and you don't stop trying to hide, I will give up.

Maybe I got tired of them.

I try to be straightforward with who I am.  There is no sense in hiding it.  If someone doesn't like me for me, then so be it.  I do not need them.  But, they should like me considering I want to like them.

Even when I do have friends, It's rare that I don't question a friendship.  When I am friends with a person I genuinely like and admire I will never really believe that he or she actually likes or admires me too.  Is that normal?  I don't know.  Kelly didn't seem to think so.

If they don't like me, why should I be their friend?  Time to move on.  Again.


Waiting sucks.  I just want to know whether or not I have a reason to hope.
I probably don't.
I guess we'll see.

ba bah this is the sound of settling ba bah ba bah...

now everything's imaginary, especially what you love

When it's late, I get brazen.  Things matter less.  Or more.  I think it's more.  Pride matters less.  There's more at stake; the day is almost over, and we only have so many days.
I am disappointed that we will probably not be friends now.  We should be.  You're a real person and there aren't too many of those left these days.  Everyday I find out more people aren't real--they're just pretending to be real.  If they would just stop pretending, the would be real.
I'm not very real.
I usually forget I exist.
Do I even exist?
Descartes says I do.
I don't like really like Descartes.  He focuses too much on God, and I think we all know how I feel about that.  Or maybe we don't.
Well, "I love you Jesus Christ.  Jesus Christ, I love you, yes I do."
Except not.
It's more like, "There are no grounds for going beyond a scientific explanation of reality and no sound reason for believing anything but our sense experience. A clear intellect, close attention to detail and a little scientific knowledge will expose religion as superstitious bosh. God does not exist."
My views on religion are much more like the latter.  In fact, they are gosh-darn identical.  The first one is very catchy though.  I wish I was the King of Carrot Flowers.

I want to be everyone's friend.  Or at least until I get sick of them.  I only get sick of people when I find out they aren't real.  Being fake is fine if you acknowledge that you're not real.  That makes you real again.  You are real because you know that you really aren't real.  I guess that makes me real then.  That feels like bragging.  And now I am fake again.  And now I'm real.  It's a vicious cycle, really.
Real.  Fake.  Real.  Fake.  Real.  Fake.
It could go on forever.
Things like that make my head spin.  I will never know where it ends.  Not knowing makes my head spin.  I wish I knew why you stopped wanting to talk to me.
I don't know why I am thinking about this so much lately.  Maybe it is because the time to fix it is coming to an end.  You can still fix it.  Just say hi.  It wouldn't be a big deal to me.  In fact, it would actually make sense to me.
I do not understand.  I do not understand.  I do not understand.
If you want to let me know why, I would really appreciate it.  I'm not mad.  I wonder if you think I am mad.  I am really, really not.  I'm not sad, either.  Just confused.  I don't usually get mad.  I sometimes get sad.  I only want to understand.  It is only when I understand and wholeheartedly do not agree that I get mad or sad.  That doesn't happen often.  Most of the time people's reasons make sense.
Victor's don't.  He's a narrow-minded jerk.
I am sure yours make sense.  You said you were indecisive like me.  Maybe it has something to do with that.
If you couldn't tell already, I get fixated on things that don't make sense to me very easily.  I am truly sorry that I do not understand why you do not want to know me.  I really wish you would let me know.  Or want to know me again.  I wonder if you just thought I was easy.  I wouldn't be surprised if that was the only reason why you wanted to "know" me.  I wouldn't really mind either.

I guess I should just say something to you directly.  I wish I felt like I could, but it was you that decided to stop, so I don't feel right trying again.  I feel like it's never my decision for anything to stop.



Standing on a doorstep full of nervous butterflies waiting to be asked to come inside. Just come inside.
so many sequins.  so pretty.  in lots of ways.

Is nothing real, or is it just that nothing matters?

 I don't know which it is, but either way, then why do I care do so much?  Why do I care at all?  I don't know why.  I just know that I do.  And I care a lot.  I wish I didn't.  I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't.  Would that be a good thing?  Would it be bad?  Who the hell knows.  I think I would like to care less.  Perhaps I will start.  What is there to lose?  Some dignity?  I don't think I have ever had that.  What good is it anyway.

Nothing matters.  Nothing is real.  It is all what we perceive it to be.

I WILL care less.  I am going to put some face at risk.

So why the fuck can't we be friends?  Why the fuck not?  It makes no sense to me.  I know I fucked things up a little bit and made things a bit weird, but I tried to fix it.  It could have been fixed.  It could have been something.  What it would have been, I have no idea.  A strange, unlikely friendship sounds like the most likely outcome.  Either way, it was your choice to give up.  I would not have chosen that.  I want to know you.  I want to know everyone.  I do not understand why you gave up.  Am I missing something?  It seemed stupid and arbitrary to me.  You seem like an incredibly interesting person.  We have a lot of things in common.

And besides that, in all honesty, I think I could be helpful to you.  Or at least, I think I understand.  Actually, I am nearly positive I understand.  Or at least I understand the main part of it.  Although, I do not understand why you can't be together.  That part I don't get.  Is there even a reason?

You don't make it very hard to get, but it seems to me that a lot of people are either too dense to notice or too preoccupied to with their own lives to care.  I fucking care.  I get that it fucking sucks.  I bet I could have helped if you let me show you I understood.  I understood what was going on with you before I had a reason to think there might be anything going on.  For some reason, I got it.  I wish you didn't stop things before they started.  I get things.  I hate that most people don't understand.

I realize I am overstepping lines here or whatever, but I don't know that I really care.

And by the way, that was the main reason why I stopped you.  There were other reasons, but mostly it was because I couldn't know that, pretend I didn't, and be okay with things.  But how the fuck was I supposed to tell you?  I wasn't supposed to know.  Or maybe I was.  You are very, very obvious about it.  You probably want everyone to know.  You want someone to care.  Maybe even someone to fix it.

I know that feeling.  I wish I could fix it for you.  I would like to help you try to fix it.

Or maybe I am all wrong.  I might be.  Maybe you do not want my help at all.  Maybe there is no real problem.  Maybe this is the only real problem.

Sorry if you end up reading this, understanding it and then promptly being freaked the fuck out.  I would not blame you.  Adding to the creep-factor, you should listen to "We Could Be Friends" by Freelance Whales.  It's a really nice song and kind of what made me want to write this.

I know this is not a normal thing to do.  I realize it is not socially acceptable.  You don't need to say anything to me if you read it and know it's about you.  If you feel like telling me to back the fuck off, that is fine too.  I am just done caring.

(And by "done caring" I mean "done caring at least while hiding on my blog.")

I hope you don't take this the wrong way.  Or the right way.  I don't know which would be worse.  I am very stupid.

[I am convinced that/please don't put your face into your hands] we could be friends

you don't fool me for a second.  you're just as insecure, unsure and confused as the rest of us.  you put up a good front.  impressive, really.  I bet you fool a lot of people.  not me.  I see through the façade.  does that make you nervous?  I bet it does, but it's okay.  I won't tell anyone the truth.  It will be our little secret.  I want to be the one to scare you and then tell you everything will be okay.  it's scary to let someone in past the wall you've spent so much time building.  lucky for you, I don't need you to tear it down completely; I've got x-ray vision.  I suppose I could use your façade against you.  or I could hate you for it.  I'd rather not.  I would rather ask you why it's there at all.  It makes me sad that you think you need it.  I just want to understand why.  I want to understand you.  I want to understand everyone.  does anyone really want anything more than to understand and be understood?  I think that's what love really is--understanding.  I refuse to pretend anything less than being understood is enough.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

lonelily/glub-glub

It really is never going to happen for me.
"It happens when you're not looking."
Bullshit.  Complete and total bullshit.  I spend the vast majority of my time not looking.  It is just those rare moments when someone sparks my interest that I look.  What the hell is the harm in that?  Furtive Glances.  I wish that furtive implied furry.  Furry Glances.  Looking at someone like an animal.  Preferably a tiger.  I have been very into tigers lately.  I blame Richard Parker.  And my hat.

Tigers don't have problems like this.  I don't understand why I have problems like this.  Actually, I do. I am painfully shy and awkward.  You need to come to me.   

I do not think I am terribly attractive or unattractive, but what does that even have to do with it?  Decidedly unattractive people have much better luck than me.  I want to just give up and never leave my room.  That's not really an option though. I need to not lose hope entirely.  Even though I am pretty sure I am nearly there. 

It's hard not to lose hope.  I guess you would have to be in my position to understand.  I am terrified it's all going to end before I experience something real.  At least if it does, I won't care--I won't even know; I won't even be.  If that is the way it is going to end up, I wish it would just hurry up and be done with.  

What's the point of waiting around for something that will never happen?  

"You don't need it to be happy."  

Bullshit.  Only people who have it or at least have had it say that.  I've never had it; I do need it.  At least once.  Even if it's only for a little while.  

It's not too much to want.  I am a fucking catch.  I am a fucking easy catch.  Very low maintenance.  Why does everyone throw me back before they even give me a chance?  I don't require all that much effort.  If nothing else, I could make for a good story.  There would be very little exaggeration required if you would just give me some time.  

Fillet me.  Gut me.  Do whatever you want to me.  

Just please, please don't throw me back there.