So much for leaving on a jetplane and all that; I’ve been persuaded to blog again. And I’m not fighting because maybe I need this outlet. Yes, it’s passive-aggressive, perhaps it makes me an attention seeker, but the people I’m fretting about never read this anyway so what’s the difference? It’s been a while since I was genuinely worried about how people felt about me. They can hate me or pity me. It’s all the one: I’m oblivious. So I’m back, sort of. But I still want that other private sentimental thing. Just so I can feel authentic. Or something.
I feel like I’ve sort of achieved everything I wanted to achieve and what’s left? God, I hate January. Every January without fail, I feel like this. This crapness. This feeling futile and listless and blank. I don’t like it. I miss everything.
I miss the team that was me and you. Today more than ever. Come back into my life, please. I would give anything to have that again, to forget these last few months, for you to forget these last few months. Please. I’ll be perfect, I promise. Just come back.
I miss what good friends you and I were once upon a time. How I could tell you anything and you could tell me anything. How you were always able to cheer me up. How you always smelled wonderful and you thought the world of me. How you were my big brother. I still adore you. And I wish things hadn’t changed so much between us. I wish we were good friends now.
There is no such thing as a perfect boy. When I find something that resembles perfection, I get freaked out by thinking it’s too perfect and the whole thing cancels itself out and I throw it in the bin and turn the other cheek. I thought I knew what was perfect, but it turns out that my idea of ‘perfect’ bores me senseless. And I can’t take care of anyone.
To make things better now… All I want right now… Call to my house. Bring spirits of some strong description. We’ll drink shots quickly and artistically. We’ll get twisted and go on an adventure. Please. Please please please.
I can feel those stupid feelings mounting again. All over again. I refuse to drown again just because of the season. No. No, thank you. I’ve had about enough of that nonsense and I’d like a change. But I have nothing to do and I’m getting restless (and reckless, if we’re being honest) and I need an intervention. Before the whole world crumbles. Again. Please.