damn
Let me preface this entry with a few proclamations. If anybody who has come across this journal feels I don't deserve their loyalty and understanding, then I kindly ask you to not give me your time by reading this entry. Also, please disregard those things in this entry that are either too vague or too cliche. I promise it won't ever happen again. So, onward with my vomit of thoughts.
I am a sick man. And my stomach hurts.
Mistakes have been made. What they were, when they occurred, and to what degree, I don't know. I do know that nobody can understand what it is that I feel inside. Is it because I don't even know? I don't believe so. I DO know. I think nobody else knows because nobody has been in the exact same position as me and felt the same way that I did. People are too quick to judge, and I am a person. Why do people think they have everything all figured out when I don't even have everything all figured out.
As I sit here typing, the current passing through this room molesting my hair, I realize how pointless this all is. Who am I writing to? Myself? Fruitless. Sisyphus would laugh. Love doesn't always lead to happy endings. Love doesn't come with a guarantee. But love is never forgotten.
My friends hug me. They know how much it hurts. They don't question my sincerity - past or present. They only love. Because of this, nothing else matters. I could write so much more. I could pour my heart out right here for everybody to pick and prod at. I could try and explain myself. But, nothing else matters. Sometimes the best things in life must come to an end. Thank you for all those times.
And in the end, the love you take is less than the love you make. I'm sorry.
I am a sick man. And my stomach hurts.
Mistakes have been made. What they were, when they occurred, and to what degree, I don't know. I do know that nobody can understand what it is that I feel inside. Is it because I don't even know? I don't believe so. I DO know. I think nobody else knows because nobody has been in the exact same position as me and felt the same way that I did. People are too quick to judge, and I am a person. Why do people think they have everything all figured out when I don't even have everything all figured out.
As I sit here typing, the current passing through this room molesting my hair, I realize how pointless this all is. Who am I writing to? Myself? Fruitless. Sisyphus would laugh. Love doesn't always lead to happy endings. Love doesn't come with a guarantee. But love is never forgotten.
My friends hug me. They know how much it hurts. They don't question my sincerity - past or present. They only love. Because of this, nothing else matters. I could write so much more. I could pour my heart out right here for everybody to pick and prod at. I could try and explain myself. But, nothing else matters. Sometimes the best things in life must come to an end. Thank you for all those times.
And in the end, the love you take is less than the love you make. I'm sorry.