Hoy hice un gran monólogo improvisado en el baño.
Me hubiera gustado escribirlo.

There're so many things going on with my life right now, so many good, good things...
Why can't I seem to fit in anywhere. I guess it's me. I'm pretending all the time that I'm okay, that I'm happy. There's something compelling me to smile, to laugh, to be funny or to fit in a mold.
I wanna open up to someone.
I want to show someone who I really am, and for somebody to embrace it, to embrace me with whom they really are in an embrace of love and care.
Not necesarily physical, it doesn't need to be that way, but I do need a hug, I do need to cuddle.
I feel... Apart. Disconected.
Como si fuera una pieza del mundo que encaja a medias, de esas que ponés pero al toque te das cuenta que no va.
I want to be sure I mean something.

Because, really, let's be honest, that has been the question all along. I thought I had something there before but I was freaking wrong.
SO fucking wrong.
And having the knive stabbed up my back hurt like hell. Now the wound oozes some blood from time to time, but it's fine, nothing I can't handle.
Still, what hurts the most is that I seem to be in a very similar possition to the one I was when this whole thing began.

I'm such a fool for believing I had a chance.