#ohioisforlovers

No, there's literally no possible way. This is only for monetary gain or to aid an addiction. You saw that look. You saw that 'oh god no' when you came close. You want to desperately believe that touch to be something real, when it's just an opportunity for a release when they're high. It's just the same. Those blues look lavender through the cloud of dust and rose.

You hate the ache. The need for a companion. The desperate nature of when you're alone. You remember the question. You remember that it was an uncertain way to continue with the track, but is it all a fallacy? You are not the mystifying, gorgeous, slender canvases that he paints on. You are cautious. You are wary. You are.. you. A dumpling; sometimes cute, sometimes ugly, generally always palatable.

HERE WE GO AGAIN.

Hopefully by writing this all down it will help me get my head a little clearer and stop being such a.. narcissist, maybe? Crazy? Definitely attention seeking. Possibly genuine or just lonely and feeling unloved. WHO KNOWS, MY BRAIN DOESNT.

I just sincerely want to be happy. I want someone to dote, who wants to be disgustingly cute sometimes (seriously, sometimes), who listens. Someone who values my thoughts and sees me as a partner and an equal, and not just a woman that they're with (or a bank account they can leech off of). I want someone who wants to touch me just to feel, not because they need the once a month (if I'm lucky) exemption from touching themselves. Oh, lord, don't get me started on THAT. That's an issue all in itself: selfish bedrooms. I will admit that I am not the most exciting, but if I have to endure a drunken tryst and still be unsatisfied in the end, why would I bother trying?

I want the thunder and lightning. Maybe that's my issue? Maybe since there's no spark that means we're in the mundane realm of passive love and that means there's silence? There's no way that love always has to turn into this. There's no way that love turns into a flaccid morning kiss and an empty vow of love every day at noon, and nothing more. I don't know why this intrigues me so much. Is it the thought of someone who lives just barely over the line of wrong really that enticing? It's probably the possibility of someone SHOWING you they adore you rather than having to assume that they do. I crave a gentle fingertip crazing my shoulder as they pass by, a knee touching mine under the table, an intertwining pinky, a kiss on the forehead as I lean onto their shoulder; a single touch that would mean instant connection, instant closeness. I can feel my chest tighten at the thought of just a simple gesture. How can love, which can be as simple as a hand of the small of your back, turn into something so.. soul draining?

But this is different, right. This one would be different. This isn't such a broken human that they couldn't be fixed. Haha, that's the ticket. Fixed. Why does a woman feel the need to repair? Isn't that the social responsibility of men? Aren't I the one that is supposed to be passing the tools to them, with doe eyes and a sing-song tone, quietly asking them to assist? Why have I taken it upon myself to seek out the down-trodden and give them my soul hoping that it aligns with theirs. Now, that was a bit dramatic. This instance is not of a soul releasing sort, but more of a peek; A burlesque of the heart, if you will. My point is still sharp, however, as I hate myself for my constant need to play the greased mechanic of the cosmos, tirelessly trying to find my 10-millimeter socket but ignoring the fact that if I just look at my wrench, it may have been there the whole time. When I do look, when my happiness and satisfaction return, I am never able to focus long enough to see if that socket exists or not. Am I just never happy, or is my situation so unpredictable and unstable that it can never idle on 'Bliss' for too long?

I'm rambling, like always. No matter how much knowledge and information I obtain, I cannot strip myself of a fantasy. Who am I to assume, and I am VERY HEAVILY assuming, that this would even end the way I want? I know who I am. I know what I am. I've seen the streams that they dip into, and the frequency that they dip. Compared to mine, they are cool and crystal clear. The kind of stream that is pictured in magazines and adverts showing their beauty and serenity. Mine? Oh, mine is muddled. Sometimes it's too large to be called a stream, but in ways it's appropriate. Sometimes the murky waters clear and you can find a hint of the bottom, but it's always in a glimpse from the corner of your eye. It's never considered beautiful. It's.. ordinary. Mundane. Uninspiring. There are no poems or epic stories told about the myths of this stream, not like the others. So, who I am to believe that someone would want to take a chance to see if this stream's waters are calm and cool? Who would submerge themselves into a stream that you could not see out of when you opened your eyes underneath the surface? I hope, but I can never expect anyone to willingly want imperfection when they are consistently offered more.

Again, I am being dramatic. I act as though this is a surefire, Romeo and Juliet situation. How pathetic is that. I have disillusioned myself into seeing more than what's there. I assume that the truth is always told, when in reality, we all have seen what prizes the lies get them. I know that in the back of my mind my insecurities wouldn't allow me to be happy because they can get whatever they wanted. I know that I am told that there is more there than meets the eye, but is that really true? I have seen the gold that has been placed at their feet and I want to believe I am the diamond on top? Surely, I know that I can outwardly see myself in the most positive light, but inside I cannot deny that I am not the diamond; I am the dirt floor that covers the cave which these treasures are kept. While I am thought of with positivity and appreciation in a fleeting moment when seen, the mounds of sparkling trinkets will always catch the most eyes. Only when the caves are empty, the jewels having been chosen by others, will a gaze be laid upon the dusty floor. They will curl up and spend their time with the notion of waiting for the jewels to return.

I am foolish. I am loud. I am mean, disagreeable and finicky. I am one to give everything to someone who gives nothing. I am incapable of letting go of the fear of missing out on life, because I am always looking for more. I want to look for that something in the person that I am with, but my words get lost in the tumultuous ocean that is life. My pleas of warmth echo and eventually die out, never being answered. I just want these pleas to be heard. I want them to be answered. I want them. I want to be loved. I want to be loved in a way that I dont have to question, I just know. I want to be touched. I want to be held. I want more. I want to be happy.