I believe in love.

The more I think about it, the less my mind seems to focus on the past. Back when all Stripes was to me was a cute boy with a ponytail. I try to ignore the immediate & unnecessary questions of when & why that changed. My point is, even the sensitive dreamer that was my dozen year old self had all sorts of plans & schemes to make him mine. The sensitive dreamer who has long since faded away, almost vanishing completely over the course of three years. The plans & schemes changed from a feeling of hope & confidence to dreams made up of this almost fictional sense of wishful thinking. These dreams, much like love itself, seem unforgiving & cruel, though the rest of the world seems to put a straining importance on the values of both. And that both saddens & confuses me. I used to believe in love. Now I curse its name. Not that I don't still believe in it. Oh, no. It's alive & well inside all of us. It's just a matter of how much & to what degree. More immediate & unnecessary questions follow. The first being why this decided to start hurting now. I suppose it's like an injury. Ice it for long enough & it gets numb. It doesn't begin to hurt again until you try to stand. If this weekend was me trying to stand, Friday will be an attempt at running a marathon. Second, do I now or did I ever love Stripes? (my true rant on love will not reside in this post). If yes, when did this start? If no, why not?

Well, I guess I don't know anything anymore. These are just a few thoughts from last night & this morning. Nothing too major.