You’re gone, and you’ve been gone, and we’re apart, and we’ve been apart, and yet the distance never ceases in tearing at my heart a little more everyday.



I’m changing, and I don’t think I recognize myself anymore.

The sex, the drugs, the alcohol. This was never me. Don’t get me wrong, it still isn’t me, but it just seems to get closer and closer to being me with the passing of every day. And it’s almost unnerving to see how much has changed in such a short period of time.

…I think as long as I can hold out on my virginity, I’ll be good.

Sigh. What a feat. What a ridiculous, ridiculous feat.

What a problem.

I really wish people would stop assuming that they know better than I what it is that I want and need. Why do people keep trying to interpret me, like I’m some fucking mysterious abstract painting open for deeper analytical notions.

I’m not that deep. In fact, I’m pretty shallow. Sometimes I feel like people read way too into me, and it’s frustrating trying to live up to people’s expectations when I know that I’m not the person that they think I am.

Honestly. Seriously. Sometimes I just feel like my exisence is such a contradiction. Why am I apparently two different people, in my writing and in person?

Yesterday sunset was a perfect peach haze that hovered over my heart and clouded my thoughts.

I really feel like I need someone right now. Someone to hold my hand and walk up and down Euclid with me. I’m not a needy or a dependent person. But right now. I really think I need someone.

I guess it’s pretty contradictory, though, that I’m avoiding everyone right now. I guess I’m expecting someone to barge into my life and force their companionship through, but the trouble with that is that if someone really were to walk in right now, I’d be annoyed and walk right out. Talk about your conflict of interests, I know.

I think ultimately I really just need time to think right now. To sort the different parts of my life into their corresponding categories, instead of how they’re messily strewn about and overlapping each other in really cumbersome ways.

Don’t call my cell phone, I’ve been ignoring it. And don’t myspace me either, because I’ve been avoiding that too.

I need to get out of the house. Later, xanga.