I don't think I am cut out for love. Every time I start loving someone they don't love me back. Or I love them so much it hurts but they rub the pain in my face and never bandage me up like a nice person would do. Every intimate relationship I've been in has ended in me backing out due to fear of commitment. Think about it. I don't need to give examples - that would probably hurt and embarrass some people - but they're there. There is something inside of me that says I can only be friends, never more. Every time I start caring for someone as more than a friend, I back away and realize that we'd never be more than friends. Never. Because Lisa can't be more than friends.
And intimacy. I feel like such a *;ajsdfv;a* normal person. Normal. I've had a perfect life. My parents have always loved one another, my family has always supported me, my parents have most always been proud of me. I'm away at school and I'm still making all the *skdj* right choices and hanging out with a group identical to my friends at home. I've got my Celeste and my Perry, my Helen, my Bea and Hannah. Sure there are minor differences, but I have another Perry. At *djdjdh* BYU. Perrys aren't supposed to be at BYU. There are only supposed to be Sam Joneses and David Glenns...no Perrys.
But intimacy. I honestly feel like I have nothing to open up about. My life has been 99% perfect. A+ perfect. What do I have to show for it though? Not much more than a bleeding heart and hollowness. I have no major problems that have affected me my whole life, at least nothing I haven't come to terms with. I guess that's one good thing about being away from home: I've conquered and overcome my main source of depression in life. But if you ask me one thing I'm sad about, I can only say that I'm not sad. I am a lover, a protector, an unconditional friend. Because even if you flake on me 20 times I will still be your friend. That's rather pathetic. Truth is therefore pathetic. But there is something inside of me that makes me love unconditionally. And I will love anyone. Anyone at all. Loving is my best hobby I guess.
I love no one more than the next. I love strangers just as much as I love my sisters. I love Simon just as much as I love Garfunkel. Chances are I love you too.
Papa's favorite poem was this little ditty called "Press On." I don't remember how it goes, but I guess the title itself relays the overall message effectively enough. Press On. Press On. Press On.
Sometimes I think that maybe I can talk to dead people. Like spirits. And they will come right next to me, or at least tune into my voice from whatever cloud they're on, and they will listen to me talk to them. I say things like "I miss you" and "How is heaven?" and I tell them what life is like. It's like April and her balloons, may God bless her soul.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I don't even know why I'm writing. I just know that I love you Eric more than anything too. And I love Perry and I want you to come home safe and sober. And I love you all. That's one of the only things I know for sure. I just love you all and I will do anything for you and I will die for you if you really really need me to.
No simple man ever wrote anything worth reading.