morose

I keep losing my mind, and then I find myself with a new concept merely resembling what was. I lose myself for a week or a month and come back seeing a new world, respecting life in a different way.

Knowing you aren't all the way back together is only depressing when you compare where you are with where you see so many friends. Tonight I am on the verge of realizing, really, why I still hear rumors of students in my high school talking about me. This is the edge of figuring out the distance I feel between myself and the "public."

Confidence is something I have been displaying, in all areas save love, for a significant portion of my life. Confidence is what I was showing last year even as my mind continued breaking with the realization that unrequited love can somehow still inhabit a man in the society that surrounds me. This is another dirge of how ironic I find it that it is the man with a full concept of love, of every minor detail concerning what it requires, is the man that fails to win the "significant other."

How pathetic the audience that calls me "creepy" is to think my motives might harm them. My advice still feels unheeded--the peers I counsel still ready to stab me in the back if it happens I ever become a burden to their reality.

I dream of a life in a world that no longer tolerates what individuals cannot tolerate that somehow works. Beside me, on a starry night staring across a lakefront or oceanview, is a woman filled with philosophy. Neither of us need to smile because we know we are content, and neither of us need to touch or kiss or speak because we trust each other. We listen to a calm wind blow, chilling, and we reflect on how far we have come. Human silence is only broken to yet confirm how far humanity has come.

Television and movies and alcoholics keep implying that I should instead dream of sex. I should dream of undressing her, myself being sure she wants "it," sweating, writhing, shuddering. Smoking would be good, or a draught of what I call poison. Giggling and flirting.

If you are new to following my thoughts in cyberspace, this is usually about a girl named Jane that I fell in love with half a decade ago. She replied, awkwardly, to my invitation to the meaningful relationship I still desire with a rushed declination. I haven't seen her since late last May, and have thusly been made ever more aware that love does not die for me.

Driving home tonight, I thought about it after considering paths of life-philosophy. I thought about how recently I have felt hostility toward my long-held beliefs declaring love is something much less physical than my peers make of it. How if I ever bring up love-philosphy, most are quick to slash of how I've never gotten a girl.

Since this enrages me, they are able to add, if they know my history, that it is "my fault" I lost the only girl I've loved. The line from the thought I wanted to share is this: that how their logic goes asks me not that I can't change my nature, or that I won't change my nature, but how I should change my nature.

If I fail to trust myself, they would lead me to denying the life I want.

It is sick, isn't it? Just because I think I am acting on a higher level, backed by an innocent (and many, I assume, would claim naive) dream, that if I actually want to find a woman I should lower myself to society's standards.

Any that still, after taking the contrasts herein with some consideration, that would rather I drink or party or date, "according to the rules," I say to you:

this world does not need you.