I simply don't know what to do. My feelings are a huge mess; a tangled web of hate, love, passion, longing, desire, and hurt. How can I love he who hurt me so? How can two perfectly healthy human beings experience the same feelings for eachother, yet do not act? How does one rationalize such behaviour? These are some of the many questions that I've been asking myself. I like him, and he likes me... I know this because we've talked about it. I know not why I still feel this way, much less if I should, but the bottom line is that I do. And, if the past is any indication of future performance, I probably will for a long time.


I could have seen us spending the rest of our lives together. I suppose that most would dismiss this as being a childish love; fueled by passion with utter disregard for logic and practicality... However, I could assure you that it wasn't. It was to be grand, fantasically grand. I can't tell you exactly how it would have happened, the rest of our lives, but I could tell you that we'd be happy. I talk of riches and power all the time as being what I want, my single objection from this life but it isn't all. Like every human being that has ever, does, or will ever walk this earth, I seek only happiness. This virtue... well, not really a virtue, more of a motivated feeling. Whatever it be, it's inspired lovers for hundreds of years - Even mentioned in the founded documents of several civilizations. I know that I just want to be happy, and I know that you just want to be happy. It's all anyone really wants.


Back to the issue at hand... For whatever reason, he makes me happy. I certainly wish I could stop my heart. Not in the emo sense, of course, but rather cease my feelings as I know them, and restart them fresh. From a completely new perspective. When my left brain takes over and gives my right hand an intangible back hand, I realize that it should never be. It could... with a lot of work, and commitment. But, who the hell am I to expect or even request that from him? Nay, who am I to expect and request that from myself. I think I owe myself a great deal more.


He's hurt me in the past, and could probably do so again. More than likely, if the probability suites. I'm moving, and the last thing I need is anyone to distract me as he does. Or, even, to tether me to the place that I hate so much.


I look forward to leaving, and as I was just telling Sam, burying a great deal of my past here. I hope to never return, but I know that simply will not happen. I'll be back, someday. Perhaps for a holiday, perhaps to divide and claim assets after burying a loved one, but whatever the reason it remains: I'll be back. Part of me wants to abandon everyone, and everything. Flee the country, take what will fit on a carryon bag, and board a flight for some corner of the globe that no one's even heard of. Ironically, this is the scared side of me talking, not the brave. The scared side is also that one that's keeping me from leaving. I think that everyone fears the unknown, and when they tell you that they do not... they are lying.


If I have to market myself to him as badly as I do, it simply shouldn't be. Too much work, and when it fails, as it ultimately will... probability-wise, I'm going to be devasted. I'll blame him, but it's devastation that I'll build for myself. I'll see it coming, too. That's the worst part. I'll see it in front of me, like I'm driving into a brick wall, yet I won't stop myself. I wish I knew why.


He says that he's attracted to me. Why do I believe him? Clearly, the feelings aren't mutual... at least the degree. If they were, why would we not be wed? Here and now? The answer, here I go answering my own questions, is that he's not nearly as in love with me as I with him. It's unfortunate, I suppose. I think it's even more unfortunate that I've had the time and the foresight to think about all of this. That fact alone should somehow dissuade me from even entertaining such thoughts and fantasies.


In a way, I guess this is the vengeful side of me talking now, I only wish that he realize what he is giving up. I suppose that this is also the cocky side of me. I'm not going to get on a soap box and say that I'm the best lover in the world, because I'm not. I'm not going to say that I've got the biggest anything, because I don't. Nor, am I to claim that I love him the most, because I do not. His love for himself is the force that guides him, and he gets whatever he sets his heart upon. Once upon a time, it was me. Today, it's a BMW, tomorrow.. I don't know, perhaps a breed of cattle. To the best of my knowledge, I am nothing in the scheme of life, so I guess that's exactly what he is losing: Nothing.


Regardless, I hate thinking about it. Yet, I feel as though I'm cheating myself if I don't. I feel like, maybe there is something that I'm not considering... some foreign variable, that when paired with current circumstances will, with a flash, render the desired results... my desired results, and gratify me instantly. I've probably done it hundreds of times, and no variable has presented itself. I expect it to come to me, out of the blue, shrowded in some white light, perhaps under the guise of a dream, but the left side of my brain knows it will not come. It is what it is, and will be what it will be.


I'd love to have the answers. Hell, even the questions. Sometimes I think that I'm crazy. I don't want to be crazy. Sometimes I think that I am unloved. I don't want to be unloved. Sometimes I think that I'm unhappy. I don't want to be unhappy. Sometimes I think I'll never have him again. I want to hold him so badly.

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