Insomnia did this to me.
I feel so uninspired.
I miss the feeling of having someone around. Of having that permanent smirk on my face knowing that I have someone who loves me and cares for me the same way that I do for that person. I miss the feeling of being needed and wanted. I miss the feeling of lavishing someone with tiny trinkets and little surprises that have so much meaning to me. I miss waking up in the morning with that certainty in my heart as I look forward to another day of spending time with that someone; I miss sleeping at night, wishing and believing that the pillow I’m cradling in my arms is really that person, and not just an inanimate object devoid of any meaning. I miss the thrill, the anticipation. I miss the feeling of having that tachycardic rush you only get when you’re spending time with that someone.
I wish I did not harbor these idealistic notions on love. I’m mushy; I’m too passionate it’s even smothering me. I’ve always wanted to be like everyone else who can take things lightly because that’s how one should be in reality, I want to be like most people who can easily replace the past with a new one. I have moved on, I know that for sure, but I can’t allow myself to settle for anything less than that of a meaningful relationship. I know I can easily take on a fling, there are a lot desperate lonely people like me in need of instant comfort and companionship but once I get close to that initiation stage of starting out with someone new, I withdraw right away. I feel filthy and cheap. Or maybe I’m just being a coward.
All my life I have been mediocre; I couldn’t care less for aspiring anything more than what I could manage with my idleness and recklessness. But when it comes to love and commitment, I try to give my best. I try everything that I can to show my love for someone, exhausting all ways and means. It’s silly, I’ve only been in love once, it has proven me nothing so far but love still remains to be a passionate and solemn thing for me. Love isn’t something that I can deal with sparingly. I just can’t play. Those three special words aren’t something I could easily dispense with. I just can’t hold someone’s hand and be in kissing terms with that person without definite knowledge in myself that what I feel is real, sincere and special.
It’s actually tiresome, to be like me. And maybe it’s even more tiresome to love me, since I have so many crazed ideas and standards on being in a relationship. I’ve come to understand that part now. I don’t like the way I am, but I can’t afford to take a step backward just to lower my principles. Am I frigid? Maybe I am. Frigid and insane.
I’m not really that miserable now, I just miss getting high on lovesick emotions. I’m not looking; I’m not even waiting for someone new. If it comes, then good, but as of now I’m only missing the feeling of everything that makes me feel crazy and wonderful at the same time.