I miss my friends. I miss being on the verge of discovering something fundamental to there here and now. I’ve given so many chances, that I lost count on how many times I’ve been disappointed. I don’t know what love or monogamy is, I can’t figure out the fine line between sharing and owning. I know how to owe things, I know how to complain, and contemplate still doing nothing. I feel like I’ve tried everything to be social, to be normal and excepting of faults, and I get the great guy card pulled and thrown on the table. I’m so sensitive about being sensitive. I hate feeling like things for me aren’t fair. I feel like a child “It isn’t fair!” Whining to my mother because Nigel got the bigger piece, Kamille got no shoes.
And then there is Her, She, the demonstrative woman child, drunk as shit weeping for hours about nothing. Falling asleep on the bathroom floor, not understanding why her sister told her she was being to loud. Being a bitch and getting away with it, getting what she wants from me by being sweet one second, delusional the next, and straight up crazy the next. I cannot fix this. I must walk away from this. I know what I need to do but I end up waking up and going to the hospital hating it. So I complain and compile those complaints in paragraph form.
Have I truly loved anything? Why am I willing to settle? When everyone else is making strides towards there every so present and personal future?