I hate being alone.
but it's so much worse to feel alone all the time when you're around people

why is it like this?

Years ago, or perhaps it was centuries ago, lovers must have gone to great lengths to nose out a suitable rendezvous point.

No matter how unideal, that place became the link in a union of memories, and should love unravel, one could always go back and revisit whispered words, a first kiss, passion and embraces, anger and farewells...




As for now, the only old haunts that evoke traces of you are facebook and instant messaging.

Why is thought so rarely effective remedy for the heart?

I think: we're all just atoms and particles colliding at random in the dark.
Then I think: no, you just want to think that because you're afraid of owning up to the share of responsibility you have in directing yourself and your future.
Then I think: God... I'm so tired of thinking sometimes.

I thought I'd write you a poem, but the tighter I wound words around my heart's intent, the farther they strayed from the ineffable essence of it.

Be patient with me, and instead I will perfect the art of an expressive silence.

More about me:
I would like to admit that I can be a jackass, and I know it. Moreover, I acknowledge that under the microscope of introspection sometimes my weaknesses and faults get so blown out of proportion that I have a hard time living with myself despite generally being a nice, loving person. Simultaneously, I am aware that stabbing myself over and over with the pincers of guilt is like crude medieval medicine (of the European kind, before Avicenna) for the soul--it hurts more than it helps, and mainly just gives me another way to practice my own misguided remedies on the most masochistic patient at hand.

I'm aware of all this, and have been working on it for years. Please excuse our mess as we try to tidy up.

Recently I had a moment where I was able to accept being less than the person I'd like to be, and was yet able to appreciate my life at the same time, not in spite of my suckiness, and certainly not because of it, but just... with it... in its proper place where it should be, neither hidden in some obscure mental closet out of shame, nor displayed front and center in a show of apologetics... just, with it, in its proper place.

I'd like to have more moments like that.

I was never really alone as a child. My mother always hovered over me as I blithely toddled into the world; she kept close, as if a mother's presence could ward her stumbling child against all manner of unforeseeable harms. No matter how far I should wander, some inextricable knot tied my mother and I together like a vestigial umbilical cord: the maternal bond, a communion of souls.

I never once doubted or questioned it--a mother's love was simply the fundamental essence of everything a child could know in life. But now I look back, and I think... yeah, that's what I miss the most about childhood.


My Mother (after reading this): "Yeah... I miss it too..."