I don't want you on my mind.

confusion is how I describe my natural state. completely untrue is the truth of my self-analysis. analysis, I believe, is essential for growth. self-preservation is no longer necessary: I reserve all rights to make an ass of myself. I have no shame, or so I like to think. my heart is twisted up into knots and the words can't seem to make it out onto paper. fifty percent thought and fifty percent action. music constantly streaming, constantly searching, searching for anyone, someone, him. "the one", my one and only.

James Dean.

I think constantly about love and soul mates and relationships and sex and crushes and kissing and romance. I like how boys make me feel. I hate how boys make me feel. boys break me down and tear me apart. they make me feel inadequate, worthless, preposterous, strange, sexy, interesting, fantastic. a week can go by and every feeling you rest your weary feet on can go from good to worse. suddenly your rock is the weight holding you down. suddenly you just can't wait to break free, to start the cycle once again, the cycle we all love to hate and hate to love.

dating.

I haven't had a boyfriend in a really long time. I've stopped trying to figure out why.

I didn't understand.

and so continues the cycle, the homework, the friends, the work, the forced conversations, the easy conversations, the dry eyes, the teary eyes, the hugs, the late nights, the early mornings, coffee coffee coffee, add music as your sugar substitute and stir well.

swallow.

everybody needs somebody. my somebody is tall, thought-provoking, witty, nerdy, musical, talented, intelligent, well-dressed. my James Dean.

my romantic ideals leave me heartbroken and alone more often than not. soul mates are not always found. until then i'll "live the questions."

C