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by harlot Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Other · Personal · #1773114
A journal entry of frustration, resignation, and romance
Delirious, I pull the headphones out of my ears. Why are you always around when I am unprepared to be charming?

I try desperately to organise my thoughts into witty statements, fashionable opinions, anything to greedily steal attention. Making small talk when all I want to do is rip your clothes off is harder than it looks. I am practically shaking the way dogs do when their trainers hold food over their head, for a torturously long period. Thats how bad it is, I used that simile.

I keep telling myself that this infatuation will have to end at some point, we have nothing real in common, or, at least I'll never know if we do, since I can't make any kind of sensible conversation with you. It's so frustrating. I could talk all day, in my sleep, on the toilet, upside down, but as soon as I care that you think I am to personality what the slicer is to bread I get messed up. Awkward. Self doubting.

I have a familiar cycle with these intense crushes. I start off super confident that my sex appeal alone will convert him to a pliant slave to my will, I then move on to the 'wow, what an amazing person' territory, where I consider that given a chance, I might actually love this person. Then comes the doubt. The pedestal I have created in my mind is mighty high, and I am very little. "for who could learn to love a beast?' I say to myself, trying to forget that I want him to. Then comes the crazy. Oh the crazy. The inability to let one status pass unliked, and where comments as banal as "how are you?" can be transformed into lofty confessions of undying love. The worst of it is, I am lucid through the process. I KNOW what I am doing to myself, how I make a fool out of myself, everyday, for you. I know I am nothing more than a spec on your windshield. And it's ok, because like a plant starved of sunlight, my affection won't last in isolation. Its just a shame that when all is said and done, I admire you. And maybe I am so screwed up that I can only channel that into a romantic gesture, not a platonic one. But maybe if you could overlook the crazy, my age, my physical flaws and the complication that is my whole existence, you would see me.

A person who would be happy just to know someone like you could consider loving her. A person who thinks your the most amazing man she has ever met, a true individual, an intellectual, a saint, a lucky charm and a poet.


But I wouldn't blame you if you just saw me. Small, awkward and struggling. It doesn't matter, I still think your great.
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