on the present

My mind's not ready to really do this. I guess that's not quite true, every fiber of my core is begging me to do this, forcing me to do this. But I don't think that my head is really mature or intelligent or shaped in the proper form to just slip into this shell. I am pretty sure that I want this, though. And honestly, without it, I don't really find much other significant meaning in life. Or at least, I have no goals to speak of.

This gives me something to look forward to, to build up towards. I'm fairly certain that even if I didn't feel this crushing fucking emotion, I would still at least have something to say, "This is why I'm getting up every morning," to. And I'm feeling this crushing fucking emotion, this desolate and barren stomach lurch. I write about it and think about it and Hell, even dream about it often enough. I've experienced most of the good parts and some of the bad parts, but I'm pretty firmly in love right now.

And right now, it's not exactly one of the good parts. This is a time for frustration and desperation, a time for a lack of communication and annoyance. It's a time for bittersweet letters in the mail and drunken text messages explaining true emotions, because the true emotions just hurt too fucking much. I'm tired of this, and yet I could go on like this forever. Something inside of me has an urge for addiction, an urge for fulfillment of desire. I've found all I could ever want and been told I can't have it. So, I'll fight and drink and smoke and write and work and cry and scream and do whatever I can until I do have it. And then, hopefully then, I'll be content.