Well, years later from first getting into this whole writing thing, I would hope I'd be past these self-aggrandizing and self-absorbed kind of blog posts; but I do think it's important for a writer to bare their soul from time to time. And there's some things I just need to share tonight. It's not for you as much as it is for myself; but maybe you can relate to my problems, too? Maybe you'll be comforted by me talking about my failures and sadness? (Yes, dear reader, it's that kind of post.) Either way, you've been warned about this blogs' content.
Here we go:
It's a Saturday night, 11:18 pm, I'm all alone. And for the first time in half a decade that really bothers me. I've felt the tinge of a possible depression building up for quite a while now. I feel like it's being exacerbated by the fact I'm 27, almost 28, and no one I want wants to be with me. Rejection's an old hat I wear with comfort, unfortunately. But every now and then -- like every half a decade -- someone new comes along and makes me feel like I'm possibly worth a damn. The kind of woman whose smile becomes my purpose for living. And when she gives it to me, well, shit, it all suddenly makes sense. Damn, Dario. If you can make this angel smile, then you're doing something right, man!
And around these rare women, I feel like all the struggles, all the mistakes, all of my faith in something better, have been paid for and rewarded. But then she pulls away from me -- disinterested, tenuous, afraid of getting too close, and maybe with some other boy. And I feel like the fist of karma has punched me again. How long will I pay for my past actions?
How long until my penance has been paid and I can be happy?
I've struggled forever it seems. Maybe I'm a masochist. Maybe I'm not fated for a positive life. Maybe everything I've built my life around has been a big fucking farce, because I thought my dreams would lead me to a different place.
Sometimes I just wish it was always black. At least then, I'd always know what to expect.