I am in love and I'm hating every minute of it. It's all a waiting game. It's looking like I will be waiting forever. I wish I could tell myself not to care. I'm young and have all the time in the world to find Mr. Right, but my mind lives for today and hopes for him to whisk me away tomorrow. I've forgotten how to be independent. I used to be a leader. I used to know who I was. Now I'm flopping around like a fish out of water. Instead of wiggling myself back into the ocean, I'm waiting for someone to pick me up and put me back in. It's not a reliable method. Lonely. Depressed. I'm done here.

Non-fiction. What's my story? I'm not ready to write my autobiography. There's a lot more to come from me. Looks like you suckers are going to have to deal for a few more decades.

I've given up the search because I've been looking for so long and have found absolutely nothing. If there is something out there, it will find me(I'm not even certain of this). Everywhere I am, I don't want to be. When I arrive at a new destination, I can't leave soon enough. What's my fucking problem? I need a goal or simply ambition. I've lost interest in everything I love. I don't have a drive to do anything. This is making me sound like the most unproductive person on the planet. As much as it pains me to admit it, I believe it's true. I need a spark to light a fire or else I'll fucking freeze to death. Where's Jesse? I want to watch Dreamquest and make out.

I am a widow and I need a man to carry me. I'm sweating desperation, but you're too dim to pick up on it. It's like I'm standing under the Pink Flamingo flashing, "I will settle down with the first one who swoons me". I am the queen of comparison, so I will fuck you on my floor, in my room, at the door. We'll stain the sheets or wave our flag, but I know we'll never have what I once had with him. Sweep me off my feet and we'll saute our skin on that dead boys bed. I want to feel you fuck me, because there isn't much to feel anymore. What if I told you that you have the most beautiful friends in the world. I don't think so. With the soul stolen, frame and magnet, on the fridge, my fucking canvas. That dead body does not exist.

Winter is cold and lonely no matter where you are in the world. It paralyzes me. I just sit and wait for it to end. I swim against its current only to realize I have gone nowhere. By the time I realize this, my limbs are burning and my mind is too tired to try again. Spring comes just in time for me to recover.

Christmas is rolling around again. It's hard to get into the spirit when it's 70 degrees and sunny. People try to compensate by putting out as many Christmas decorations as possible. There's still nothing better than something as simple as snow. After 2 years of absense, love is finally making an appearence. Lets hope it flourishes. I don't think I can watch it die again. It's true what they say about fools who leave too soon, they don't ever really move on.

And they see inside. And they barely breathe. And the sun will rise. And they'll come to see. And they seem to show. Would you rather leave? With your soul beside. Will you barely breathe? Where were you in mind, where? Who are they coming for? Were they down with me? And you take a strike. Soon the sun will free. Send the life away. Come to wake the dead. On the single road. Keep your life the same. Where were you in mind, where? This will be the last entry in my journal. I hope you all enjoyed my ranting and raving bullshit. Goodnight, goodbye, I love you.

Lets be selfish tonight. May I call you mine? I'd like to be yours. Songs play softly as I fall asleep in your arms. Our bodies are meant to fit together like two puzzle pieces. We breathe at the same pace. As the sun creeps through the shades my eyes creep open, looking at you. Waking up to you is the sweetest thing. I'll be glowing for a while. Lets be selfish today. Lets be selfish until our passion runs dry. Lets be selfish until the end of time.

It's 7am. I can tell by the air. Laying there listening to the ocean crashing gives me a reason to wake up every morning. I've never felt so secure with the windows open. The same bird comes to greet me every morning. I think it's because I leave strawberries out on the porch. I can shower with the doors open, walk around naked until I feel like putting on some clothes. No one needs shoes here. I walk on the sand and lay in the sun. The seals and otters are swimming with their babies. Makes me miss my family. My mom and I talk 3 times a day. It's as essential as every meal. Nothing matters here. Life is the only thing that exists. I think about living and how much I love it. I think about how I just lied to myself by saying that. I'm depressed, but does that mean I'm not happy. It is a question that I can't answer and never will. I'm learning to be content with being. As the moon's light takes over where the sun left off, I'll sleep only to wake to another day in my short life.

...and automatic guns for automatic boys. My sex life flourishes, while my love life fails. Both would be nice. Someone please come sweep me off my feet so I can stop this "playing the field" bullshit.