Welcome to my blog. This place is an outlet for my writing and my thoughts — like an average run-of-the-mill blog, but with a creative, semi-fictional twist. The character's environments and actions are usually fictional (though not always), but his thoughts are my own, word for word. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Part One.

I stood at the corner of the boulevard and people passed constantly. Not walking, but in cars. Flying by. Seemingly only giving me a passing glance and a fleeting thought until they were gone.

“Oh,” I imagined them saying, “he looks weird.” Or, “Oh, he looks lonely.”

Maybe they're right about the first point. But I can tell you right now, they're definitely right about the latter point.

What's weird is that I can't even remember her face after too long. I just remember little things: her red bangs that drape the sides of her face. The way she laughed when she accidentally dropped a spoon in the garbage. Her yellow shirt that she occasionally wears.

The wind blows harder and I involuntarily sway with it, looking like a fool.

I never knew I could get to this point. This pinnacle of appreciation for myself. I know, I know, just be yourself and everything will be fine. How was I to know that this little piece of advice would actually be true?

I guess I just need to push through. Through the fear, through the hopelessness. I mean, I've been good lately. Really good. But this is usually about the point when I slip off the edge of the cliff, and bounce back down to the bottom.

One car stops at the stop sign. I can see two women inside, talking and carrying on. Then they leave.

Can I stop myself this time, though? Can I hang on just long enough to climb back up if I need to? It feels like it. Then again, I've felt it before and look where that's got me.

There was a point where I had just given up. Honestly. I'd stopped dreaming. "What happens when the heart just stops," he says, "stops caring for anyone? The hollow in your chest dries up, and you stop believing." Sappy as it sounds, that was me down to a T. I really felt like it was the end of something.

As someone walked by me I became aware of the shape of my face, and rearranged it to look less depressed. It didn't hold, though.

I don't know. Maybe it's all in my head. Actually, it is all in my head. Were I to stop thinking so much, I'd presumably be fine. But then I wouldn't be a hopeless romantic. In love with love, loving and being loved.

Someone in a car looked at me funny as they drove past.

Lately I've lacked a desire to do anything. The guitar. Writing. Playing a video game. Watching a movie. Going for a walk. All I want to do is talk with her. Know more about her. How did she come to be the person she is today? In what ways has her heart been bruised and her thoughts enriched? These are the details I want to know. These are the ways I want to be connected with another person.

I keep hearing songs about love. I watch movies about love. I think about love. It doesn't matter if it's good or bad love, sturdy or broken love, bright or dull love—I absorb it all. And I ask myself: how can I, as one person, find someone else? There's so much chance involved. Two people, in the same place at the same time, who just happen to have things in common, and both decide to go for a relationship? And both actually enjoy it? I'm sorry if it seems impossible to me. Past experiences have given me reason to be pessimistic.

Across the street a beautiful girl walks by. Against my own wishes, I give her a personality and fantasize about what it would be like if she was actually interested. If she took the time to learn my story.

Even if one enters into a relationship, there's no guarantee it'll last. In fact, it's almost a certainty that it'll fail. Nine out of ten relationships end because those two people weren't right for each other to begin with, and half of the ones that get married get divorced. Yet I continue to dream about finding someone and being with them for the rest of my days. That's not to say I'm naive: there would be problems, unforeseen consequences, and tiny slipups here and there. I know nothing worth having comes easy. But I feel it would be easier if I had someone to help bear the burden.

More wind. It's colder now, and the sun is getting better acquainted with the horizon.

I don't even know what I'm going on about anymore. I feel more full, more confident, now that I've sorted through things and organized them in my mind. Still not great. But better.

I guess I just need to push through.

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