It seems as though my mantra for life, the thing with which I understand my God, my friends, my parents, my boyfriends... is now suddenly more multi-faceted than the special menu at In and Out. Love has always been a thoughtless thing for me, I find myself in love more easily and naturally than leaves find themselves falling in autumn. The excentricities and complexities of other people's personalities are so intriguing, they never cease to capture my heart, and in that I find fault in myself. And today I opened my eyes and didn't see the man in front of me. A chink in the system, a crack in his wonderful exterior now swims beneath my devotion and causes so much doubt I no longer place my future in his hands. How can one boy not be enough for me? Everyone preaches soulmates from soapboxes and true loves from rooftops, but experience contradicts it so harshly.
All passion is gone from my love, and love without passion is nothing in my book. Without wanting, how can we have?
I'm wearing black today. Everyone says it brings out the blue in my eyes, like putting diamonds on velvet at Tiffany's. I feel thinner in black, like the excess worry inside, bloating my happiness to unrecognizable proportions, can show itself on the outside, soaked into the blackness of my clothing. This is too depressing. Later.
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