I shouldn't read the sappy stuff. It only reminds me that underneath the fun exterior that I'm fucking bleeding my eyes out. It doesn't hurt to see him anymore, but when I'm sitting alone in the shade of my own company, my head wanders in endless circles. I know it's over, and all for the better. But the memories won't leave my heart. I have my wants and needs organized, and as I go back and read old thoughts I've noticed the repitition in my qualms for serenity. I've mentioned before that I am vague with words now, attempting to fully illustrate the concepts eating me whole. I guess if you want further insite to my squabble, email me and I'll let you in on some secrets. I've met some nice people through Diaryland. It has been one of two great things I've received through this mess. Thanks to you all.

I don't write passionately like I used to. I don't have passion anymore for anything or anyone, and that saddens me. I used to love writing about him, about what I felt and what I saw. And it's not that I don't see these things now, because I clearly do, but it's so much harder to shed the dry skin that is my anguish. Why can't I get it through my head that it's over, that he doesn't want me like that anymore? I'm fighting with myself on this constantly. Not seeing him or speaking with him wouldn't bring me any sort of conclusion to this mess. He's been there for me since I got back from AZ, and I can't be anything but grateful for that. I hope this is descriptive enough to the being this is directed to.

So I'm going to run for a while from this. Sam's coming over, and I'll see the boys later. Hopefully this weekend will be good to me. Hopefully I won't endure any fucked up situations with anything that happens. Wish me luck on my way.