I Still Don't Know What Love Means.

There is music that I ache to listen to and in times like these, I justify spending ten dollars to listen to a disc in my car. Night winds, stars and a melody that hits you square in the chest are better than anything I've ever experienced. I miss music sometimes.

I'm coming to grips with what I am.
I was told yesterday that I was in a constant state of turmoil. I realised today that its the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me. I am tired of this life and man is it dumbfounding to realise you are what you never wanted to be. An artist. A tyrant. A tease. A constant understanding.

There are times when I just want to let go of everything. I don't want the words, "You always know what I mean", to hurt this much. I don't want to be able to relate to someone who accepts the fact that they're prepared to be alone for the rest of their life. How have I managed to convince myself that the rest of the world is the problem?

Last year in this moment I would be sitting on my bed, clutching the sheets, trying not to get snot stains on my pillows. In this moment, the pain of being alone would be savaging every ounce of strength and logic in my mind and body and I would be on the phone, dialing a number, trying to reach out to someone so they could make it ok.
Today, the realistation of being alone doesn't even register. I'm aware of it, but I've somehow become ok with its existance and somehow I've realised that I always feel this way. Empty.

I don't know what love is.
I want someone to look at me and I want my presence to be enough to wake them up. I want someone to adore me - to cherish me. I want fingers to run down my back and I want that touch to spread flames through my entire entity, but I don't think that will ever happen.

Last night someone touched my face and it ignited something in me that wasn't fear.
I explained to him that I was trying to do things right because feeling this way wasn't cutting the mustard and I was at a loss of what to do next. But the way his hand felt on my face was the closest I've ever come to understanding love. I felt the sincerity. I felt the concern. I felt the desire, I felt the admiration, I felt his smile and I felt his warmth. I felt that flame.

I don't know how to fix things anymore.
I'm scared for you and I want to make things wonderful - You deserve that feeling. I want you to move on from the disease that's been consuming you for all these years. I want you to forget the pain that love has caused and I want you to embrace the the good stuff that floats around you effortlessly. YOU are cared for. YOU are cherished. YOU are loved.

And I'm telling you this because I want you to move on from all these expectations and ideas you have in your head. I want you to experience tomorrow without thinking about yesterday and I want you to look at me and know that I love you just the way you are because there is NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU and even if there was, I would love it just the same.
Nothing you say or do will ever change the fact that I admire and adore you. I'm sorry you feel stiffled and perhaps a little naive, but its part of the charm that comes along with the whole package. You are an amazing individual, something that I will probably never know again and I wish that I could fall for you, but it seems that we're not giving the concept the time that it deserves.

I haven't been near you for a day and I already miss you. I miss you.

I hope this isn't too cryptic. I'm full of medication and sleep and I'm sure its difficult to read between kerning? Or is it leading? Meh.

I will call you later tonight. My ambition to be an adventurous night-hawk has failed me. I do hope you're home.