October 4, 2010
-
I feel completely drained. Trying to emulate someone so ultimately lonely seems to unexpectedly affect my mood rather drastically. I suppose it's probably a combination of a lot of things.
God, has it gotten this bad? Am I that head over heels? But I don't feel right. It's like I can sense something brewing that will destroy everything, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm destroying everything. I can never say what I want to say, do what I want to do, like a barrier 10 miles high has been put up around me and I can't reach out and connect with anyone anymore. I want to say that it's all just nervous apprehension, but I feel so alone, even when I'm surrounded by people I truly care about. Like I can't remember what it's like to be myself. Like I'm fading.
I want to tell her so many things. I write them down sometimes only to later crumple them up and toss them aside. And when I get the chance to tell her anything substantial I always just gravitate to the trivial, easier subjects. I look at her beautiful face and her gentle smile and I can't. I just can't. She just seems so satisfied with everything, and I can't bring myself to pollute that contentment with the turmoil that is constantly swirling in this hallow shell of a human. I don't think I ever really made it out of adolescence.
Look at me, sitting here in this cave of an apartment, alone, listening to a Lady Gaga/David Guetta Pandora station because it's the only thing inane enough to keep me from thinking about everything. I kissed her, but all that did was make me need her that much more. Now I want to hold her, kiss her, feel her against me even more. But what does she want? She never tells me. I never ask, I suppose. I want to say I'm excited, but more than anything I'm scared absolutely shitless. I feel like I'm holding a delicate and extremely expensive sculpture, but my hands are covered in grease. If I keep moving forward I'll eventually lose my grip and that's it. It's broken beyond repair. But if I don't move forward I'll be holding the sculpture forever and I'll never be able to gently set it on the table across the room and wash my hands.
Ugh, I hate myself when I'm like this.
Maybe the 10th Doctor really is the perfect character for me.
Recent Comments