Journal Entry #3: Okay, I admit it.

The Morning After Night Two:

The morning after, I awoke from a night of tossing and turning, with a resulting heart that felt repressed and swollen. Love is chemical warfare between all of the bridges that connects all reason within your mind. Typically, either you love the chemical and its relative feeling being released, or you don’t. Typically, either it makes you happy, or it drives you insane. And the neutral borders between the two are hard to come by, and even harder to take a strong stance upon through the level headed thinking that it requires during these hectic times. Mainly being because level headed thinking can obviously be hard at these hectic times; the sentence’s main terms, being ‘level headed thinking’ and ‘hectic times,’ are entirely contradictive of each other. I’m at a constant battle for both of those grounds where reason meets happiness, but forfeits and forgets all of the remaining grounds encompassing madness and uncertainty.

My lack of serotonin left me thinking of how convenient that it would be to actually and exactly really know what it is that makes our emotions hurt. I’m left repeating the question to myself of what else is inside of a heart besides blood, muscles, and chambers? And what in the hell must it look like when someone runs a knife across your heart with their words and actions? I question what those wounds look like. I question what the scars look like. Heart is supposed to be the most beautiful thing, but from this world and the people in it I’d say that our hearts have to be distorted and hideous from all of the wounds that these people throw at them; on the outside that is, though many people so unfortunately let it seep all of the way through. But as a belief that I always live by, there is always light in every dark shade and color. There is always good in every degree of bad. And despite those shades of browns, blacks, and grays, there is still beauty within them, spaced along somewhere, making its mark in the wake of all of the unconditional hearts; the ones that never stop despite those cuts and scars; the ones that still love those who have hurt them, because the hurt that they feel just doesn’t amount to near as much love that has taken place there instead. It’s just so unfortunate; how easy it is to get lost in the confusions of love. One reason for the self-subjection of this is due to the fact that many of the times, the unconditionals know that this person that recently hurt them just isn’t the real person that they love, or care about, and/or know, but something temporary instead; people get lost in themselves and in life all of the time, leading them to say and think things that they don’t mean or even want to think about to begin with. Sometimes that hurt just simply is not intentional, and sometimes the person causing an intentional hurt thinks that it’s for the best for whatever reasons that they have(Not the hurt, but the detachment that you will most likely ensure after it), despite the fact that you can still love one another. And at times, it’s something or even everything in between. Although I have learned not to agree with that or to condone this type of thinking and these types of actions, in all fairness, everyone falls into this place sometimes, and you have to understand that people do this and you have to be able to forgive them. You have to be able to see if someone really meant good by what they did. Good people opt for the ways out in which they think are morally correct, or the most morally correct, given the situation. Even if that option turns out to be a shallow one, one hundred percent good intention could have been put into it; they just need someone decent in the world to show them the better ways out; a higher moral, as opposed to leaving someone feeling like they have been gutted, and feeling like they are left bleeding out.

Somewhere along the way in my life I picked up the gift of being able to read a person; read what they’re about from a moments glace; read if they’ve got goals or if their next action will most likely consist of meeting someone for just another fuck. It’s a blessing and a curse, because I know you well enough to know what actions to expect from you, and that is the worst thing. As you have left before, I don’t want to just be left again without another word said; not spoken to, but yet know that you’ve said goodbye without having said it; realize that you have run, without even leaving a note at the door. Where is the fight? I know that it’s in you, but where? You make so many steps forward towards us, but then seem to plateau. And I try to weigh out why in my mind; why as in am I falling short this time, or are you? I sway between ‘maybe it’s because of my actions, and maybe it’s because of yours,’ but I’m assuming out of simple common sense that it is both of ours; and really, in all honesty of my drawn out sigh, it is. But in my defense, you can’t expect me to just jump back in after what has happened between us; between these episodes of you leaving because one small fracture in the flooring has risen and it’s frightened you. But still, in your defense, you are worth that risk. I just want you to show me. That’s all that I need. That’s all. I hesitate because I don’t want either of us to feel like I am pushing anything onto you, which is why I feel too forward at this point to try to revise ourselves to each other right now at this position that we’re in. Right now I would feel too forward to speak what I really feel, and I’m just waiting for the right time. There is just this wall; this transparent, but lucid wall standing right between us and I’m looking right at you through it. I study and pay the closest attention to find any flaws only to see that it’s smooth and bland; without rigidness or footing; at an unerring angle towards the sky. And the heights; the disquieted, discouraging heights; well, they’re far higher than my inconsiderable eyes can see.

But that doesn’t matter. I at least know that you see me too; at least I have got that. We’re caught in this same place, just opposing rooms. As I watch your moves, you watch mine. And just like every move that we make, I extend my arm and hand towards this towering hindrance, and I watch you do the same. Pressed to the wall, hand in hand, or at least the closest thing to it, I watch you lean in, just as I do. And all that it takes at this point, is next to nothing; next to nothing. A few words; just the proof of what I know that we both feel, and the next thing you’ll know is that you’ll find me at the top of this wall, ascended and standing firmly. And every answer for every question over how in the world I reached the top of it would be simple, because every answer would lead right back to you; because simply, every answer would be you. My hands may be bleeding, my every ounce of energy may be drained, and I may be in pieces on the floor, but I told you a long time ago that you were worth any fight. Any fight. And I have no shame in proving it. You see, love does not thrive at its best off of only one side carrying its weights; great measures can be taken this way and from that giver’s selflessness in these situations, but not the greatest that it has to offer. I used to be so stubborn and arrogant that I believed that I could carry it as far as any couple could all on my very own; I didn’t want the woman that I said that I loved to ever have to raise a finger. So I carried us without question, or thought, or doubt, until finally my frame too began to buckle. I remember how hard I tried. I tried with all of my efforts and with efforts that I never knew existed in this soul that I call mine. But despite the countless amounts of those efforts, I never walked the distances that these other people and these other couples that practiced compromise did. I never even came close. Why? That answer is so simple and so obvious, yet I’ve seen it piled in the streets, in the dirt, and on the sidewalks more so than I’ve seen it instilled in the characters of these people that reside here, and their minds. It’s everywhere, face down or back down on the cold cement or ground, with extended hands begging for just one passing soul to grab a hold of it as the rest of them walk by, not only refusing their helping hand, but failing to even see them to begin with. The world is too infatuated with itself to notice the desperation of others, let alone that there has long been a foundation of life branching itself into our smaller subjects of life, such as relationships for example. And every one of these smaller subjects of life has a potential to be taken to incredible lengths, but are often-time sold short, as they would only be half filled, empty, or even meaningless without that original foundation and the message that it carries. And the reason that they are sold short is because these people fail to believe in that foundation; to stop, to take one look at the world around them, and to realize that it needs things from them far more than they need things from the world. It is so simple: Nothing about this life is about selfishness, or shallowness. I don’t care what throne you sit upon, or what empire that you have built. If they encompass your delusions of self-importance, greed, or selfishness, then you better watch the weight of your actions and of your intentions, because your foundations are faulty. You are a sky scraper built upon weak promises and weak reasoning, and you better heed your coming storms. I am not the only one that will tell you that they are on their way.

So do you see it yet? I am standing here beside compromise. And all that I need; all that I need, is just for you to show me; that’s all. I find myself waiting for that every day, every time that we talk, and every time that you laugh. Every time that you say I miss you and every time that I respond with the exact same thing. Every time that you call me upset and every time that I hate the world for every moment of it that you are. Every night that the sun sets to sleep and every single time that we get lost in each other, and each other’s words. You know, every day I keep my head up and my drive going. I get up every morning and do what I need to do, to better my life and myself as a person. I can hold my head high for that, but when I come home it hangs lower than ever, because I want to come back and share that with you; show you how I’ve bettered myself just so it will better us. And then the realization hits me harder than ever and almost puts me in a coma on this cold, hard wood floor: There still is no us, and I just don’t know why.

But I still try and act as if there is, every day.
Because in all honesty; in all truth and sincerity that enfolds and enwraps me.
It comes down to one simple thing.

One simple thing so easy, yet so hard to say right now.

Something so incredible that it could stop Hell and every bad intention that it carries in its tracks, and something so strong that it could pry Heaven’s gates open all on its very own; and when Heaven see’s this it would welcome it with open arms instead of question and disregard.

One simple thing:

I fell in love with you and I never fell out.