Outburst

What's the fucking point of this endless cycle?

I should have known better. There's no peace in connections, not even the most innocuous ones. Yet one can't seem to escape them. The very idea of having someone understand -- even only for a short while, somehow tips the balance in favor of the wrong decision, all previous wisdom discarded.

It's like taking a pin to willingly burst your own bubble-wrap, to become a child again, to become open and receptive to everything.

It's dangerous when this is mixed in your blood, when you just don't stop it. I can't be depressed all the time, and I won't, but the lingering uneasiness and suppressed sorrow eventually cause a numb empty dullness that will propel me to a tangent.

I never want to meet anyone I am remotely fond of ever again.