erring blindly

It is painful to be on the outside all of the time. It hurts worse because I remember a time when I thought I wasn't.
Unhappy people are so dull, my dear, so dull. I will spin in the rain until my heart bursts out of my chest and flies away where I cannot find it.

yell me a sigh

Good Lord, the disappointments!

...

I forget why I wrote that. Possibly it was done at a time when I could not keep my mind on anything long enough to write about it.

I am in love. How tragic that feels! Under different circumstances, etc etc.

You are in love, enfin!

You see, it is not that I think I am in love. 

I did not think I was in love 

I have spent much time and energy; I been through the entire range of possibilities. 

I think. I wish. I hope. I have- convinced myself fooled myself tricked myself into imagining pretending believing... 

Sigh, how very lowering to be exactly the same as everyone else! It would not, perhaps, be quite as unpalatable if I were exactly the same as everyone else for whom this has worked out. In a way, that's lowering too. :)

I ask myself what it is that I love. What can I say? I cannot say, he is smart, and funny, and interesting, and enjoyable. (oh, but he is all those things) I cannot say, he likes things I do; he lislikes the things I don't. (it isn't always true) I cannot say, I love the way he plays the violin in the morning. (perhaps because we all know there is no violin) 

I can say only that time spent talking to him makes me happier than I was.