It is what it is.

I’m thinking about love today. Not in the soft sense, either, but in my usual hard-edged try to look at it another way kinda method. I think I failed. On some levels I was good at parts of it. I know with what just fell apart I was supportive and I spend a lot of time on lip service, but I’m essentially very bad at this. We were very bad at this.

As it turns out, it never is on your terms. The entire act is defined as some adoption of common goals and the never-ending decision to keep some one else in mind, whether you’re sick of them or want to fuck them or want to push their teeth in. She failed to see what made me happy and I disagreed with what filled her up. I’ll never make that presumption again.

Or maybe I will. This all sounds like the remorse talk of a drunk who swears off the bottle with every profound hang over. I hurt therefore I’m wise.

Any way you turn it over; I need to change a lot of things. I need to stop thinking for a moment that I have some influence over anything where personality and desires are concerned. I think that example and influence will affect, I’m wrong.

You never love in the abstract; it must be concrete. I watch my expectations introduced to disappointment all the time, so I should know better, but I guess I don’t. I guess I still think that how deep these currents run means something, but it doesn’t.

Not at all.

The ledger of our lives only shows credit when we’re able to move something.

I got some clarity this morning. I had the opportunity to put myself next to some other things and see how I don’t add up. With this whole love thing and all the feelings I can’t translate into the energy to never let up on decisions made for a whole or a pact and with these people that I do love and how inadequate I feel beside them. How stunted and ineffective. How absolutely useless I am as this entity that exists completely and richly only in my head. That ain’t a love and that ain’t a life.

Because I hate how this body looks and how it fails me is no excuse to ignore it and all the collisions I’m blessed with. I need to fuck and I need to fight and I need to spend some time outside of me. Maybe a little selfless, yes, but most definitely not absorbed in the dynamics of the thing. It’s gonna float wherever the waves take it. It’s gonna be what ever it wants and there is no hope of willing it significance or some efficacious legs.

I’m willing to be malignant for a while and all this thought is benign.

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