abodyofwaterandabookofmatches;sinkingorburning.

It's a very, well, there is a very, there is, there, well, is, is, well, nevermind.

Maybe I'll never figure it out.

I keep hoping, or maybe even expecting, somehow, oddly, that someone will just come along and be all that I want, and accept all that I fear is wrong with me, which is, mind you, an awful lot, an overwhelming lot. Then, when no one shows, against my expectations, in accord with reason and justice, I become sad, as though love was a foregone conclusion.

What the fuck am I supposed to do; it comes so easily to some and so asphyxiatingly hard to others *coumegh*. I keep thinking that it's going to happen for me how it happens for others, how it happens for everybody else, as though I was just like everybody else. Maybe if I liked football, or if I drank a little less, or had even a hope that I could one day earn above the poverty line, or thought about myself a little less, shaved/bathed/tried more often, then I would get to love, be loved.

Whatever.

Ya know, this whole system is fucked up. I'm in an awful lot of pain right now, but the only thing that hurts worse than being alone is not being alone. When you're alone, you're alone with your failures and your faults, but when you fall in love, you become one with your lover, and the wrongs, the injustices with which you were born are multiplied by your coupling, and you become all that is wrong yourself and your other self. It's sick. Why is it this way, that when two people fall in love, and their egos melt away and they become one human, they become this beastly chimera of desperation and insecurity.

Errrrrrrgghhhhh.

Fuck.

Nevermind. I suppose I am better off without another, despite the loneliness, the crippling, might-yet-prove-fatal loneliness.

I don't want to talk about it.

I'm done. I hope you're all happy with your friends and your lovers and your lives.

Enjoy.