-Fresh Air Waltz, by Howard Jones.
You recall my last entry about this guy I will never, ever have?
Yeah. I mentioned it to a friend earlier. In that conversation, I stated that I knew it was just a stupid crush and that I was all but over it.
It continues to plague me, like a diesease for which there is no cure. I wish it would just kill me and get it over with.
To tell the truth, I’m not sure how to handle myself. I continue to torture myself because I am almost totally sure that it will never happen. And yet, I can’t stop thinking about him. All it takes to make my insides turn to jelly is his smile, and when he laughs, and his gorgeous brown eyes.
It’s disgusting how head over heals I am with this guy. How can I feel so strongly about someone I can’t have? What purpose does it serve, seriously? Unless the world is trying to drive me insane. I have
two three words for the world: SHORT fucking TRIP.
For instance, the entire evening I’ve been home, I have been staring off into space, unable to do anything…. I messed up the stupid rice I was supposed to be cooking because this unrequited love has infected my brain.
And, when I get out my sketchbook, I can usually come up with even a small doodle that looks somewhat attractive. Today, nothing. I stared at the blank page until I got tired of waiting for inspiration that wouldn’t come.
And, I usually suck at writing anyway, but today I can’t even concentrate on the paper long enough to write anything down! Seriously! I’m surprised I’m cognative enough to type this blog entry!
Every time I stop doing something, he’s there!
I wonder if he knows what he does to me. If you know me at all, you know I am not bold, and I am not strong. If one keeps hiding behind their wall, I will of course torture myself with the thoughts of what would happen should I get some courage and lose my care of what would be thought of me, but by no means will I feel able to approach them.
I just wish I actually knew what he thought of me. Straight out. I always hear things like this from other people, but I seriously wish he would just grow some balls and fucking talk to me.
Or maybe my incessant torture isn’t obvious enough.
Maybe it would be if I decided to join the leigons of emos who slash at their arms with razor blades. Or perhaps I just need to have it branded into my forehead.
I CAN HELP YOU. I know I can’t fix my own problems, but I know I can help you with yours.
You certainly do not deserve to alienate yourself and say you’re tired every time I say you look a bit depressed. Stop trying to lie, it doesn’t fucking work. I know you’re depressed and I know why, so why won’t you let me help you? I don’t care if you don’t “like” me or whatever, I want to help as a friend. Of course if you do like me I can help you there too, but still. I want to help you as a friend. So maybe I don’t know you as well as some other people do.
Big fucking deal.
If it’s anyone who deserves eternal torture, it’s me. Not you. You’re so much better than what you let yourself believe. I know you are. You might not, but I do.
You can’t live like this forever. Even if it’s not me, you need to let someone in. That’s what love is; caring so much for a person’s happiness, even if their future does not involve you.
So listen up. LET SOMEONE IN. It won’t kill you, I promise.