Love. It's a topic I only vaguely allude to here. Basically because it's probably one of the most personal subjects there is. But tonight (it's still night for me), spurred by a friend's "issues", as we'll put them, I've decided to breach the sacred bastion and step onto these hollowed grounds. Love is probably the best and worst thing there is. When it's shared, it's probably the highest level of emotion and happiness a human can achieve. Nothing else should matter. Nothing else really can. All your troubles seem smaller, all your pains less hurtful, all your moments alone not so lonely. There's only that one person who truly loves you and makes your entire existence euphoria. At least, that's what I, as a self-repressing romantic, interpret it as.
However, I've yet to experience the above. And, in ugly, disgusting reality, I don't know how true the above ideal is. I could hope that I'll achieve it. But I'm a realist, if not a pessimist. I think reality will get in the way. Tearing, gnawing, thrashing into my blessed illusion, leaving a mutated dwarf of that relic Nirvana. I fell in love. With a girl. And I despise it. I try fighting it, constantly seeking remedies for my madness, my inherent human gift and curse. And I fail. But this is far from over. I'll not be celestial entertainment. No, all I must do is remain aware. On guard. Tis a duel with Fate. And I duel with drumsticks. Drumsticks of a different drummer.
(SEE! SEE what you people get when I stay up late, have too much stress, homework, and too little time? I do stupid things like this! THIS!!! No, I'm not crazy. I'm completely in control. I'd just like you to remember the speaker in a poem is not the author. And although it sure seems like it often is, don't make that oh so fatal mistake. I'm done, I've got to sleep. But by golly, I had better win this thing. And I intend to. Until I go down the hill. But that's a future poem, and future story for next time...)
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