Realizing, I was using myspace to serve as poetic expression(paradox, no?) I put all my blogs onto LJ in case anyone felt like reading them to dissect my feelings at the current moment.
For a few minutes that I never really enjoyed afterwards, I have thrown away a good chance to be happy and to obtain ultimate joy by her presence and conversation. How was one to know at the time? Why had no one warned him about the repercussions it could have?
I grow tired of reading books. It's not human closeness.
I feel the dire need to vomit at the emptiness and meaninglessness of my life. I exist and not much more. I take up space; people run into me. I suppose I need to branch out. No one makes such unrequited decisions so young.