You know when you miss someone you really like being around. You quit thinking about who they are and what they said so much… you just feel a cold warmth of sorts. The recognition of what was accented by the imposed control of knowing it’s going to be a long time until you are with that person again.
It’s not the best state to be in… It’s kind of sad, almost depressive.
It’s better than a drinking binge though. It’s better than seemingly endless time wasted trying to track people down and have experiences with them that can’t really compare.
The vanity of the self… trying to perpetuate… a neurosis in itself.
The recognition of the presence of psychosis and the frustrating acceptance of all the changes it’s forced on you. How if it is fed it will keep you there. Perpetually invalid… perpetually defending the self.
No, I choose longing. Somber and wholesome… I didn’t deserve that chaos. If I seek excitement I will falter and slide. I’d rather sit here and feel this. This displeased state of being alone, with that small hint that someone out there might actually care and help me out. The essential friend I may have finally found.
Longing it is… so it goes.
(@Rhubot oh well, oh well, oh well.)