a boy called hopeless

I'm laying here, just holding her. Each breath takes her in, the warmth, the proximity, her very presence is intoxicating. I want her. I want her more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life. Before I met her, if you had asked me what my ideal was, I could not have told you, and now, she is here in my embrace. And there isn't a damned thing I can do or say that will change anything. I can't give her anything else. I can't do anything. All I've done, everything that I've given her, everything I've gone through for her, everything I am just isn't enough. And that is the worst feeling I've ever had in my life. I don't want to eat, I don't want to sleep, I don't want to rehearse, I don't want to write, I don't want to do anything except crawl into bed, hide under the covers, and cry.

But I won't. Instead I'll just tell myself that my happiness doesn't depend on anyone else -- I'm responsible for my own emotional health. I'll tell myself to quit feeling so sorry for myself. I'll tell myself to move on, because there is obviously nothing else I can do here. Insanity is trying the same things over and over and expecting to get a different result. I'll listen to depressive music, I'll do my homework, I'll go to my rehearsals and my social gatherings and seek my comfort elsewhere.

But this sick emptiness does not go away. I can hide it, I can run from it, but I can't fix it,