So here I am...

Siting at my desk at a quarter till one in the morning when I have to get up for work at 9am. Why do I insist on this self inflicted insomnia. The watch on my desk clicks loudly, letting me know that each second has past me by. Why am I here? Why do I write on this thing? Well, considering a friend of mine just introduced it to me and I thought it was cool, I guess I just have some sort of deep seated desire to express myself in written word. And of course since it is late and I am desperately tired I become quite melodramatic in my use of language.

The only thing I could think to say here is that interpersonal relationships with the opposite sex, let's say dating relationships, are hard to figure out. How can everything be perfect one second and then after one word is spoken it all falls apart. And then as you hang the phone up you realize that you had so much more to say and yet could not find the words to use. I guess it all comes down to the fact that I can do nothing right, by myself, at night. I fall apart.

But I must go...

if I could only be like you
then I wouldn't struggle the way I do
if only this story was told from the end
then I would know where I'd fall again
this face I show is too worn to wear again
I'd just as soon run then face the fact
that I am just dust and air