Ummm. Nothing really funny to say right here. School is manageable. I made a Skype? Flarglekins. Add me and don't expect a response. Oh ho ho.
FUCK YOU. I don't want to do today's entry. Fuck. Love.
I really don't know anything about love. Hell, I wish I did, it'd make my stories and dreams something a bit more believable or realistic. If I went by my parents' relationship, I'd think that love isn't necessary. Mutti and vatti don't love each other. Or, rather. They might. They just aren't IN love. They're friends. That's enough.
My bruder hasn't really had that many good relationships, either. And nor have I. Four relationships, but I think only one actually counted. But I didn't love him. I liked him, he liked me, it was comfortable. That's not love.
If I went by what I wrote and lied about, love should be something that isn't happy. It's fulfilling and refreshing, but it's also filled with panic and anxiety. Real couples don't ever have perfect relationships with clear borders and guidelines, they don't wake up every morning happy and glowing. It takes some time. They have to go through all the crap everyone else in the entire fucking universe goes through, but the only difference is instead of ignoring it or breaking up over it, they deal. You're not supposed to be happy.
To tell the truth, I confuse myself sometimes. My favourite love stories are the ones that riddled with angst and filled with aching and leaves you wondering if they were really in love or if they were deluded, or if it was just this twisted sort of childish affection that one felt and the other accepted, since it was just... comfortable to be like that.
Aw, hell. If I went off of my closest and most favourite current relationship, when you're in love or loving someone, it should make you feel blessed and so happy to have someone like that, but you're always going to be wondering about your own worth and their stress.
But, I'm selfish and weird.