There's nothing interesting about me, except the fact that I really should stop switching blogs.

Another pretentious way of saying "Bitch, please."

I was once an eloquent bloke; words, like dabs of thick, gooey paint squeezed across a grubby palette; life, through my squinted eyes, seeded my mind. The strokes rhymed, the colors proved to be an impeccable match - I was inspired by an end that was faultless as it was complete.

My life began to keep its record through my chosen form of expression - words. Every minute alone was an opportunity for my mind to run through the scripts that constructed my life, examining every loophole and abolishing every doubt with a truth - a truth so comforting that settles within my knowing. Below the sift would sit a moment of clarity, one where the lies are weeded and the truth inevitably hurts.

It was my steroid, a pump of adrenaline into my fingers as the words crystallized on the tip and appeared before me, shepherded by a single flashing cursor. For quite some time, it was my sole resort to making sense of everything that was happening.

Life as I knew it came in 26 alphabets, punctuated by silent pauses of reverie.

And then I went ahead and fell in, and out of love. The one, single person - one who for the past 18 years of my life never knew or mattered in any way possible to me - stepped into my life and turned everything I knew into a mess worth mocking. My accustomed routine was rudely interrupted, disheveled and debacled; my usual haunts haunted me with a deprived longing - I was in every sense crippled.

But even with my life flipped like a failed sunny side up, crashed into a halt and left for passers-by to stare at, everything, somehow - in some weird, unexplainable way - made sense. The pain was inexorably clear, and I was severely aware to the truth that was as ugly as it was fruitless.

I knew, for once in my life, without the aids of words and punctuations, I knew. I knew so hard it hurt, and god... did it hurt bad.

But I'll let you in on a little secret. Maybe I'm built to hurt, maybe I'm not, but it was, without a doubt, the best feeling I've ever had in the entire of my 19 year-old life - to love, to know, and to hurt.
0 anal amy

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