"Your constant optimism is completely foreign" she said to my baffled reaction. My mind racing, I thought, "You are the only one who has ever thought I was optimistic." I do try, I confessed and I guess someone finally noticed. Though it's unfortunate that her heart belongs to another, I feel that at times, I fully occupy her mind. Lord knows she occupies mine.

Strange time for me but I'm drunk and need someone to talk to. Shit. Everyone is asleep. I should be. Sleep. Foreign. New (old) pills. Stop taking my cigarettes. You're my friend. Pay for shit. Sleep. I need it. Goodnight. I think I love you. I am an idiot. Sleep. Goodnight. "Stop talking to me and give me some peace."

It's nights like these when I really hate being single. Being unable to tell her because I know it'll ruin the friendship. Being alone and spooning a pillow. Getting drunk to forget but only being able to remember. "I write to remember."

This familiar cold, this familiar chill, this familiar dreariness, this familiar fatigue, this familiar anger, this familiar repulsion, this familiar seclusion, this familiar isolation, I haven't seen you in years.

You know, I often think about dying. Not necessarily killing myself but just not being around anymore. That is until I hear a beautiful song or see a beautiful film or a beautiful girl or hear what sounds like joy. That gives me hope, a painful and longing hope but hope nonetheless.

Words. Words are important. Friends, family, love, God, music, film, joy, laughter, connection. Those are important. Neither money nor social status, possessions. Life and death are important and things, objects, can neither live nor die. They can simply lose importance and be thrown away. Don’t be something, be somebody and try your best to refrain from resenting those happy lovers simply because you’re not content with your current situation, though admittedly, that’s far easier said than done.

"eager for love but lacking of worth."

Welcome back and welcome home these sleepless nights of an uncomfortable bed and a brain full of thoughts and a mouthful of unspoken words. Smiling is forced and limbs are weak, patience is running very thin. I thought I had beat this (don't speak to me) but apparently I haven't and this overwhelming feeling of a life of mediocrity and settling seems be here to stay. Not at all times, though. He likes to hide and allow me time to regain composure before showing up again, uninvited, like an acquaintance that always seems to end up at the same party you go to even though you do not enjoy this persons company and it feels like he makes it a point to single you out. I'm too old for this. I'm far too young for this. I'm the perfect age for this.

I was hoping to be asleep by now. Excited to leave here tomorrow. Need the break, though it is short. These past few months... What am I doing? Well, at least I'm sober and attempting to kick what hopefully turns out to be a habit rather than an addiction. Rereading that makes it sound like I think I'm an alcoholic or something. No, I'm quitting smoking. Day one: Successful with a busy mind and a heavy heart.

It’s always during times like these that red lights seem to last forever. Those times when you just give up because it’s not worth the effort anymore, when you’re squeezing the handle above the car window so tight that you cannot feel your hand just so you don’t lash out at the grown child sitting behind you, huffing and puffing, trying to get your attention. It’s times like these that allow you the cluttered clarity of knowing where you stand, of knowing where and who you are, and just what kind of a man you actually are.