I want to be honest. It would do me good if I just open up, but I’m afraid. I can’t even look at myself anymore. All there is a fat lonely shell. Right now, my emotions have become unstable. This has been leading me to act erratic and spaced out. Thoughts keep running through my mind about the future. There never seems anything good at the end. ‘Sigh’, this isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this. It’s a common issue that seems to arise every time she talks to me. We’re just friends, is all I think, but I know there is more. She’s oblivious about what I really feel about her, or maybe she just ignores it. Wish I could do the same; wish I couldn’t feel this pain. It’s the most unbearable feeling and I want it gone, but honesty is the only solution. Jeez, I’m starting to sound like whiny guy off a bad romance novel. Listen, all this bullshit beforehand…lies, stupid pointless lies. Personally, in order to get some attention I need to make things dramatic, but I’m just not feelin’ it right now. I just rather sit here and talk honestly. To me, it just seems better or a bit more realistic. Originally, this was going to be about me dramatizing my personal problems and whining how I’m miserable and that the only solution is love or some stupid lesson. I’m sick of doing that, I really am. There’s no point to it. It’s just right now my whole world has been changing at a fast rate. Everything I use to enjoy is starting to lose its appeal. It could be that I’m growing up or maybe I’m becoming depress, heh. Even writing a story has become a hassle. An idea will just come out of nowhere and I’ll think about it and then I try to type it, but then nothing happens. It’s as though I’m scared to type, scared that nothing good will come out and I stop. I will tell myself that I’ll write it later when I’m in a better mood, ah what a lie. The one hobby of mine that I truly enjoyed is dying. There are ideas, but the passion has cooled down. I remember when a friend of mine really liked my story and told me I should be a writer. Jesus Christ, that one comment made my head inflate. From that day, the start of my freshmen year in high school, till probably my senior year I couldn’t stop writing. I’ll look back at all the unfinished ideas and laugh at them. They’re just so ridiculous and crazy that I wonder where those thoughts came from. They’re fun to read and as well nostalgic because I remember when I wrote them. I could picture myself sitting in the very back of the bus scribbling down my thoughts. Those thoughts always make me smile. When I started college I remember how horrify it was to write a story. I would spend hours upon hours working on one paragraph to perfect it. Also, all my stories were about a poor fool falling in love. They were simply dramatizations of my past relationships, but most were about the most recent one that ended. That one particular relationship was something special. I could say that was the first time I truly felt love. Cheesy I know, but when it ended I felt pain. It was truly the worst thing in my life. I couldn’t function right, I ignored people and writing was pointless. It has been over two years since it ended and I’m barley moving on. Ever once in a while she’ll come up, but I deal with it.

Recently, we have been talking and just reminiscing about our childhood. I’ll say this, the feeling is there, but we just can’t connect, but it is nice that we could admit it. She’ll look at me and I’ll do the same and we’ll just smile. Sometimes I like to think that we’ll meet up again in the future and start over, but that’s just a foolish thought.