The greatest torture must be lonesomeness. Not only does it paint those long days blue, but slowly it drives you into insanity. I have a good deal of wonderful and loving friends, of which I am endlessly grateful for. But none is my alike and the lack of complete understanding pains me immensely. None shares my mind, and I can't even begin to explain how lonely that is. 

 

It'd seem as for most a companionship implies merely amorous words and actions, financial and social stability, a source of attention and affirmation. It'd seem as if most fall in love just for the matter itself, rather than falling in actual love. I've always said I needed something deeper and more profound but.. recently, I've been doubtful of whether or not I'm just making it all up in my head. Maybe the secret of falling in love is in fact self-infliction. 

 

Yet I can't help it. I look at people, wonderful people, beautiful people, and I feel naught. I feel no burning sensation in my loins, and even less in my heart. Perhaps I'm not trying hard enough; perhaps I am to blame. Or could there be something fundamentally wrong with me? Can I be changed? Will the day come when I finally decide to settle, and when that occurs will I live the rest of my life happily or full of repentance?