its hard to get connected because the fear of rejection lingers. call it paranoia... its best not to.. but then again.. when you talk, you cant help feeling hollow. at first, the other person seems so clear to you, but after a while they get blurry. you dont know what you think of them, nor what they think of you, the spark diminishes. you never know how lonely and pathetic you are until you naively talk about it. once you finish speaking, you cant help exchange glances of akwardness... and my favorite part, the sympathetic smiles... hours later, when you're trying to fix your pillow case, you stop, and wonder... why sympathy?.... and not compassion??? and there it is... you finally realize that... sometimes, you best keep your daily rituals to yourself. you dont really care, but you ask for the sake of keeping a comfortable ambience. why? it provokes intelligent and stimulating conversation.... i dont care if barry is pregnant, leave her alone. why do i need to know about a scandal about another state's senator? why should i bother with knowing that a multi-millionaire left her dog with millions of dollars....??? the purpose of living is to search for a greater purpose of continuing one's life... right. i prefer that to the usual "to be able to maintain a healthy income"... more human i guess? damaging to hear that... especially when we were hugging. "me dano en el mas profundo parte de mi llema"...i enjoyed that movie... e. why.. why would you say that then, why? be so inconsiderate... how? he didnt fix it, make things better, no. i guess i can't trust him. foolish to believe he was worth the all the confidence i gave him. words are great. i could barely comprehend how those few words affected my perception of him, the relationship. i dont understand. what? when they're spoken...with true sincerity... amazing. people are so beautiful when they cry. ive said it before, and i hardly regret to say im gonig to say it again... they're so beautiful... regardless of the fact that im ripping my veins out and shoving my ears in, that still ocurred. i dont know. i dont understand. im still a kid. i have to grow. i have to stop writing, and start talking. be more assertive. do i enjoy it? yes... because im feeling, im alive... and no, because im alive. cant help feeling guilty.. well at least my body's forgiven me.. i think? not quite sure, i hope so... if i had the chance, i would beat myself to pulp... i would, i mistreat myself. dont value... value is abolished once he's mentioned, once the hand is raised. hate that. i really do damn, im sick of writing. i cant paint it, i dont know what it is. something... dont know.. something's compelling me to write it... since i dont know what it is, i cant talk about it... i guess im afraid im not good enough. thats just it. im not good enough. at least i think so, not sure. damn, im taking my pills. out