your tragedy cried my tears

My desire... pure desire to share love with another, is it all crazy? For I don't stand out because i want to love another, it doesn't make me any more interesting or more of an intriguing person or any more desiring to another, i just thrive for the day to come that I'll love someone as they love me. Is it all so wrong? Am I missing a link that connects life to this world other than love? Or did I finally discover what its all about? Love?

Could you call it horrible to live in a fairytale? to prefer fairytale love more than reality itself? To be so wrapped up in the right kind of love you know is out there that you don't settle for less than the best? Or is it only natural...

Is it safe to consume yourself in all other things and objects in this world just to escape that starving feeling of love? Is it alright to spill words out like this to millions of strangers who may not relate? Or is it another modern way to just be free and calmly let it all out opposed to screaming your little heart out and molding into the couch with all chick flicks, revenge movies, love sick stories, and pure sad depressing movies with the bottle of wine and cookie dough at hand.

Is it normal to want love so bad? and get so frustrated that all the good morals and standards have disappeared and every good man that was once out there has fallen and become the epitome of this modern day of age.

Does it make someone horrible to wish themselves different? thinking maybe if I changed this or that he'd come around, maybe they'd notice me more. For i find it awful to believe that we'll change ourselves to get another to slightly take notice of what we AREN'T. But yet we all do it? no? at least the thoughts cross all our minds... that maybe.. just maybe it was US... something was merely wrong with us.

and yet i still find it so invigorating once you've gotten pass the sadness of being alone...

until it comes right back and hits you in the chest

and what a daze we all weave through, to make our way to the ending we all so obliviously made for ourselves