I Want To Write My Random Thoughts And Feelings

Love is such a strange thing. I'd like to think that at the ripe, old age of 27 ( <-- written facetiously), I would be grappling with more complex, universal issues... not rolling about in bed with nothing but a t-shirt and a beer bottle, dissecting the highs and lows of my currently shoddy relationship and wondering where it all went wrong.

Did I not wait long enough? Did I grasp onto the niceties, praise, and serendipitous excitement, and leap without checking my parachute?... yet again?

Perhaps, as much as I would hate to admit it, I'm a hopeless romantic. I might be one of those types, too trusting, fully invested, yearning to be swept off of her feet.

Ugh, I hate those people.

Welp, as much as I tried to avoid the pattern, here I am. Thanks for coming out everyone, but the show's over. I'm done.