Fuck today. I just want to listen to Thrice.

There is a girl. I am quite infatuated with her. She texts me at all hours of the night. She apparently has a boyfriend. This is the story of my life. Thanks, God.

It would have saved me a lot of time and energy had I known about her boyfriend. Goddammit.

Is falling head over heels in love, marrying, having children, and growing old with me too much to ask before I've asked you to coffee?

I once witnessed a homeless man shouting about how tired and hungry he was while I was waiting for my train ride home. His tune changed as he laid on the platform before the tracks shouting, "I'd commit suicide if I wasn't a Christian!" My first thought was, "Please don't jump in front of the train." But even with that thought, my eyes were fixed on him, fixed on the chance, the mystery and essentially, God was the cause of his suffering. He could leave this "cruel world" (as he put it) and find some peace but God won't allow him... or so he believes.

I think I know who you are.

With all those hopes that never come to pass and all those loves that never seem to last. Why try? Live. Live the life that you've had the chance of living. Make each day your own and love who you do without a care in the world. I love my friends. I love my family. One day, I will love the perfect woman and she will love me the same. Hope is not dead, though it may seem to be. Dreams are never met unless you try. Fuck fucking. Fuck lust. I want love. I want passion. I want reciprocated longing. I want peace and pleasure and comfort. I want bliss. One day. One day. One day soon? Likely not but who knows? I sure as hell don't but cheers to tomorrow. Cheers to forever. Cheers to the beautiful movie romance that all wish to achieve. I will have that one day, goddammit. I will have that someday.

Oh, me? I'm just a sexually frustrated 20 year old lad. Nice to meet you.

In awe. Inspired. Closure. Joy. Sadness. Excitement. Anticipation. Tired. Alive.

The obscene nature of some isolated incidents. Feeling better about being down and showboating will get you nowhere. Calling attention to your true nature and never looking back, the obscene nature of some isolated incidents, breaking down the barriers of the “norm”. A false sense of accomplishment that you crafted yet are having trouble learning how to handle. Broken bottles that show the evidence of times you can’t remember but would wish to forget. Fighting back the urge to be yourself with every fiber of your being, knowing not who you are or ever could be, forgotten chances with the best intentions, or so you tell yourself, that break apart at the seams. The obscene nature of some isolated incidents. The obscene nature of some isolated incidents.