Funny thing is...every now and then I'll catch myself sliding into this periodical funk where I'm surrounded by these giant, ugly monsters--cornered and taunted by feelings of guilt, hatred, and bitterness, each triggered by some distant memory in which I'm greeted by a much younger, naive version of myself fighting eagerly and desperately to keep the 300 lb. skeletons from falling out of my closet and completely smashing my perfect little world into tiny, typical smithereens. I tried my best to be the good guy (at least the very best way I knew how) but whad'ya know? Shit happens. You live. You learn. You love. You move on. Who was that girl who once cared so much about her "irreplaceable" reputation? That person is so foreign and unfamiliar to me now. As Kanye West once said, "They say people in your life are seasons, and everything that happens is for a reason"--I couldn't agree with him (or his severely overpaid songwriters) even more. And perhaps those words not only apply to those we associate ourselves with, but to ourselves as well. I can no longer relate to the young girl I was last summer. And if I had the chance, I'd relive each and every last minute of my time with him all over again. Not only for nostalgia's sake, but for my own. For his own. I'd undo each and every one of those "mistakes" (that is, if you can even call them "mistakes" at this point) and make right. Just imagine: Things would be so different. But...that's life. And as much as we cry, hope, and beg for a rewind button, its never going to happen. So every time I feel myself falling into yet another bottomless sea of self-pity and distress, whad'ya know, the good ol' sun pops out donning a big cheesy grin reminding me that I've got nothing to worry about--those passing bits and pieces of antagonizing rage and emotional distress (although very far and few in between, in my quite honest defense) aren't worth the self-depreciation of who I am as a loving, powerful human being. I'm worth quite a lot more than you'd like to admit to, Mister. My mind wanders, I can't help it. But in all honesty, I've done nothing wrong. I was never really committed in the first place (You didn't have a whole lot to offer anyway, if-you-know-what-I'm-saying). In my heart, I did the best I could to redeem myself to God (and of course to myself, as well). So you call me dirty? Fuck you, you coward. "Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes shut so tightly". Never, ever have I met anyone so fake and so self-absorbed to actually have the nerve, and moreover, the ability to grin such a dishonest grin in hopes of acheiving a greater sense of "respect" amongst his peers. How dare you come to me, and much worse, to MY FRIENDS and MY FAMILY and play the part of the good-ol'-innocent-boyfriend-with-lots-o-love-in-his-heart. You've played nothing but the victim. Give me a break. The time has come to face your life-long inability to maintain any real sense of identity because, let's face it, you've got none. You may think you've triumphed, but in reality, you'll continue to live your life on the false emotions of your peers that you like to call your own--be it "the woman of your dreams" or the complete fucking morons you like to call your friends. Go ahead and throw me in the limelight once again, because Lord knows its the only way you can make yourself look halfway decent. I'm all you've got. I wish you the best of luck in life when it comes down to actually making a decision on your own, if and when that opportunity ever arises. You'll never really live. Not on your own at least. Have fun with your good ol' drinking buddies, you know the ones you bitch and complain to about how like, no one seems to get you and you're sooo, like, underappreciated! (omgzomzomz) Oh, and pardon me for the honest intrusion. At last, I've allowed myself to dust off those once "dirty" skeletons in the closet and I've embraced them--held them close, and danced myself to higher spirits. I'm glad you're "happy", because dammit, so am I. And let me tell you, it feels so fucking good to be alive.